


I don't feel right (when you're gone away)

by IDreamOnlyOfYou (lauren3210)



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluffy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 47,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauren3210/pseuds/IDreamOnlyOfYou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey loves his suits. But there maybe something else he loves more. He just needs a little something to help him realise it before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't feel right (when you're gone away)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, wow. First of all, this is my first _Suits_ fic, so I hope I've done okay. Please be gentle. Also, this originally started off as a kind of character study about Harvey and his suits, and then suddenly there was plot and sex and feels and I have no idea how this even turned into the monster that it did. I am literally very, very confused as to how this happened tbh.
> 
> Possible triggers: There are some spoilery medical aspects to this fic, so if anything like that triggers you, please see the notes at the end before you read. Also, if anyone thinks I should tag this story with anything extra just in case, please let me know!
> 
> Title comes from the song _Broken_ by Seether:
> 
> 'Cause I'm broken when I'm open  
> And I don't feel like I am strong enough  
> 'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome  
> And I don't feel right when you're gone away

The most important thing to understand about Harvey Specter is that he is an _exceptionally_ good lawyer. There are two very good reasons why he has the reputation for being the best Closer in New York City, and the three piece suits he wears aren't either of them (although they can't exactly hurt, they are bespoke after all). The first reason is that Harvey reads people; from just a split second look, he can discern exactly what a person needs and identify the best way to give it to them (or keep it from them, depending on what side of the Harvey Specter fence they happen to be standing on). The second reason is that Harvey understands that image is everything (again, not talking about the suits), and he knows just how to make sure that people see the image that he has created for himself, knows how to polish that image to such a high shine that it blinds people to everything else.

The upside to these abilities is that Harvey has a lucrative position at one of the most prestigious law firms in New York, and the lifestyle that comes as a guaranteed bonus, complete with penthouse apartment and one night stands with beautiful people. There are however, as with most things that look too good to be true, downsides to being Harvey Specter. The image that he has neatly chiseled out of the finest marble for himself to wear is solid and impervious. There are no chinks in the Harvey Specter three-piece-suit-covered armor, and nobody can see what hides beneath, to the point where people decide that there wouldn't actually be anything to find even if they took the time to smash through it with a claw hammer.

There are exactly two people in the entire world who have caught a glimpse of the real Harvey Specter (and anybody still thinking this relates to the suits should probably get their mind out of the gutter and focus) and both have been assured of a painful yet 'accidental' death if they were ever to breathe a word of what they saw. Jessica Pearson, a woman who reads people almost as well as Harvey and dresses just as swanky, is smart enough to know exactly which side her bread is buttered on and as long as the best Closer in the city works for her firm, she is perfectly happy to pretend that she didn't see anything at all. Donna I-know-everything Paulsen has seen the 'real' Harvey in the same way that Harvey has seen the 'real' Donna, and so she understands the mutually inclusive benefits of keeping her mouth shut and the rumors flying.

So this is the price that Harvey has to pay for being the Great Harvey Specter, best Closer of New York City: People think that he doesn't have _feelings_.

For 99.9999% of the people that Harvey comes into contact with, this is a good thing; the opposition don't try to play him and the clients are happy to have a cyborg keeping a tight hold on their interests. The beautiful people who take part in the one night stands never expect anything more than breakfast the following morning and the cab fare home and the people who work under and around him scramble to get Harvey what he wants before he turns them into dust with his laser-beam eyes (no really, Harold heard that this actually happened once from the guy in the copy room).

But there are times in his life when someone comes along and manages to slip into that 0.0001% of the population that Harvey wouldn't actually mind understanding that there is more to him under the impenetrable – but suave – exterior that he has created for himself. The twinge in his gut and the sudden desire to let down his walls rarely lasts for very long however before Harvey realises that any relationship would only damage his career in the long run and he shuts down any impulse to reveal more of himself than he absolutely should.

Which is why he currently finds himself in a state of internal panic, kneeling on the steps outside the courthouse with his hands pressed tightly against his associate's chest as he tries to staunch the flow of blood.

Mike is staring up at him with something like surprise in his wide blue eyes, and Harvey can't help but feel that it has less to do with being shot and more to do with the fact that Harvey is showing signs of actually having _feelings_. In fact, Harvey also can't help but feel that his current state of panic also has more to do with all these emotions that he's suddenly showing to the large crowd surrounding them and being unable to shove them back beneath his cool exterior where they belong and less to do with the fact that Mike has just been _shot_.

Except, they're probably actually the same thing, because it's _Mike_ that's _just been shot_ , and it's Mike who has recently squirmed his way into that 0.0001% of people that Harvey wouldn't mind letting see beneath his impenetrable armor (and okay yes, in this instance thinking about things beneath the suits could be warranted).

Another thing that Harvey is well known for is his remarkable ability to say exactly the right thing at exactly the right time and to keep his mouth shut when necessary. Although apparently this talent has also decided to desert him at this particular moment, because he realises that he can't seem to stop himself from whispering over and over, “I'm sorry, God, I'm so sorry”.

And as Mike's fingers scrabble to catch hold of his silk-lined lapel to pull him down closer, Harvey can't help the wince of guilt that pulls his brow down into a frown and he knows that this emotion is written all over his face and he can't find the energy to make it disappear because the guilt is completely grounded in basic and irrefutable fact: This is his fault.

“It's not... your... fault...” Mike whispers in his ear, a bubble of blood popping on his lower lip from the effort of trying to speak, and Harvey is absolutely horrified to feel something wet trickle out of the corner of his eye.

 

* * *

 

 

“Eldred v. Ashcroft.”

Mike jolted upright in his seat, staring over at Harvey with the wide innocent eyes and self confident smirk that Harvey has come to realise indicates that Mike believes he has just cracked their case wide open. He doesn't even try to hold back his eye-roll as he turns to look back at the stack of papers spread out over his desk.

“I really don't think a case about copyright legislation is going to help us stop Landsdowne from selling his company at a cut down price, do you?” Harvey watched out of the corner of his eyes as Mike stood up from the sofa and smoothed down his ridiculously skinny tie, his self-satisfied smirk growing wider.

“But the contract was written by Landsdowne _before_ he became CEO, right?” Mike stalked over to the window and picked up one of the many basketballs lining the cabinets, spinning it effortlessly on his index finger.

“Put that down. And I still fail to see how this helps us.” Harvey glared at Mike's hands until the kid slowly replaced the ball, flashing his boss a sideways grin.

“Then that makes the contract a work of corporate authorship, which means that it belongs to the company family and _not_ Landsdowne. At least, not for the next,” Mike's eyes flicked up as he did the math in his head, “ninety-seven years, anyway.” He spread his hands out wide, and Harvey let his eyes linger for a moment longer than strictly necessary on the lean muscle and pale skin that showed beneath Mike's rolled up sleeves.

“Which would make the changes Landsdowne has made to the contract void, because he isn't the legal author of the work.” Harvey leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips in thought.

“Even though he wrote it,” Mike threw his hands up in the air and then leaned over the desk, holding out his fist. Harvey raised his eyebrow at the offending appendage and Mike rolled his eyes and flopped back on the sofa. “Dude, you can tell me, I'm totally awesome.”

“I've got to hand it to you Rookie, maybe there's more substance to you than that suit you're wearing suggests.”

Mike put his hand over his heart. “Be careful Harvey, all this high praise could go to my head. And hey, at least I'm wearing pants, you ever notice how none of the animal crackers ever wear pants? Well, except the monkey. But anyway, just because this suit doesn't have a matching vest does not mean I lack substance. Seriously, does everything you wear match?”

Harvey's mind was brought out of his sudden daydream of Mike sitting on his couch sans-pants as his eye caught Donna through the glass doors of his office. He knew every single one of his executive assistant's facial expressions, but this one he had yet to have become acquainted with. He watched as she fumbled with a brown package in her hands, biting down on her lip as her eyes flicked up to meet his and then down again.

Harvey questioned her with a frown as she pushed open the door, a sheaf of glossy papers clutched in one hand and her lip still wedged firmly between her teeth.

“... because I have no idea where you could even buy grey and lilac pinstripe boxer shorts, although maybe René makes them for you?”

“Mike, shut up.” Harvey straightened in his seat and peered at Donna; was her hand actually shaking? “Donna? Did you just come in here to look at me because I'm pretty, or do you have something to show me?”

Donna seemed to come out of her temporary stupor and walked briskly over to his desk, calmly placing the papers down in front of Harvey, spreading them out on top of the open files littering the dark wood.

“What is it?” Mike got up from the sofa and walked round behind Harvey, leaning over his shoulder. “Jesus, are they... are they what I think they are?”

What 'they' were, were roughly a half dozen enlarged glossy photographs, all of Harvey in various places around the city. Harvey, standing outside the town car, handing a CD to Ray; Harvey, one hand on the door to his building, smiling back at the doorman; Harvey, sitting at a booth in a diner uptown, his arms resting across the back of the worn leather seat; Harvey, handing a thick file to Mike on the steps to the courthouse. And in each photograph, a rifle sight had been drawn in precise red pen, right over his chest.

“Harvey, this is... what is this?” Mike reached out to pick up one of the photos, turning it over so that the back was visible. In black marker, scrawled across the back of Harvey's image, was the word “Soon”.

“It's on all of them,” Donna said, looking at Mike. Her face had lost the momentary scared look and had been replaced with her usual professional demeanour.

“We need to give these to the police.” Mike started to gather up the photos, pushing them all into a neat pile, but Harvey grabbed his wrist, a small part of his mind wondering if he imagined the way Mike froze under his touch and the sound of a breath slipping through parted lips.

“Don't be ridiculous, why on earth would we need to do that?” Harvey grabbed the stack of paper out of Mike's hand and shoved them into an empty folder.

“Harvey, this is a threat.” Mike looked at him incredulously, his eyes darting to the folder as if he was planning to rip it back out of Harvey's hand. Harvey stood up, forcing Mike to stumble backwards. “As in, this is an actual threat. To you. To your life. Of course the police should be told!”

Harvey sighed and looked at Mike, condescension dripping from his raised eyebrow. “No it isn't. This is just somebody I've pissed off trying to get my attention. And do you know what I like to do with attention-seekers?” Harvey grinned arrogantly. “Give them the exact opposite of what they want.”

He looked at his watch and then started for the door. “I expect that precedent to be waiting on my desk when I arrive tomorrow morning, Rookie.” And then he left, leaving Mike and Donna staring after him as he walked down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

Harvey Specter is very well aware that the suit doesn't make the man but rather the man makes the suit. But Harvey has always felt a special kinship with suits; he often wonders if the reason why he decided to become a lawyer in the first place was because wearing tailored suits was a lifestyle requirement. As a young boy, Harvey would wait impatiently every year for Halloween to roll around, just so he would have an excuse to dress up as a 1920s gangster, complete with fedora hat and fake gatling gun slung under his arm. Harvey would enthusiastically inform friends and neighbours alike that being a gangster was cool, but in reality the plastic gun and the don't-give-a-damn attitude were inconsequential to the feel of the crisp white collar against his neck, the sparkle of the cuff links peeking out under his jacket sleeves, the high polished shine of the shoes beneath the sharp seam of his pants.

This feeling of home that he experienced every time Harvey stepped into his costume to go trick-or-treating with his brother had less to do with his future of becoming a corporate lawyer and much more to do with his father. Harvey could remember watching his father getting dressed up in his finest suits before going out to play at the club, the wide pinstripe double breasted jacket coupled with the silk-lined wide brimmed fedora, his honey-yellow saxophone reflecting in the tops of his polished shoes. The look was just so sophisticated, so refined, and Harvey couldn't for the life of him understand why his mother would get involved with all those men with the long sideburns and the bell bottom jeans when she had his father looking like this sitting at home waiting for her.

He still remembers the feeling of deep disappointment during his first suit fitting as he realised that his ears really did not support the wearing of a hat, and maybe something showed in his face because René had patted him gently on the shoulder and pointed out the waistcoats as an alternative, informing him that slicked back hair was the next new style as he pushed a pot of gel into Harvey's hand and smiled quietly.

So the hats were out but the waistcoats were in, and eventually the twinge of regret faded and mutated instead into a diffused sort of pride that he had become his own man without having to move too far away from his father's image. And pretty soon after that, the waistcoats became the part of the suit that Harvey relished the most; the way they highlighted his broad shoulders; how Harvey still managed to look suave and sophisticated even as he removed the jacket in the late afternoon; how the white of the shirt accentuated his biceps in contrast with the darker material wrapped around his waist. He was even glad that he no longer had to pay such attention to his tie, not that he ever had any trouble with that of course. He enjoys visiting René to have his suits tailored, safe in the knowledge that each one would come with a matching waistcoat. He feels a sadistic sense of amusement whenever he remembers the time Louis tried to copy him and spent the day walking around in a waistcoat until Donna asked him if he was practising his walrus impression for the Pearson Hardman Christmas party. He also spends a lot of his private time devising ways in which to force Mike to wear a sharp pinstripe suit, but that has much less to do with wanting the kid to look as sophisticated as himself than it does the fact that he has a feeling Mike would look incredibly hot dressed up like Frank Sinatra (it's the big blue eyes okay, they lend themselves perfectly to that particular fantasy).

Harvey spends a great deal of time paying special attention to the care of his suits. He sends them off to the best dry cleaners in the city despite the exorbitant cost; takes care to hang his jacket carefully over the back of his chair to ensure it doesn't get wrinkled; eats hotdogs without the trimmings (despite actually preferring them covered in mustard, not that he would ever let Mike know this) so that they're never stained; has Donna keep baking soda in her desk in case some incompetent associate spills coffee near him.

Harvey spends so much of his time surreptitiously regarding his suits and checking for anything hazardous to their continued perfection that he finds himself surprised that it took him until long after the paramedics had pushed him out of the way and leaned over Mike to notice that his entire suit is absolutely covered in Mike's blood.

 

* * *

 

 

Harvey isn't surprised to find Mike leaning over Donna's desk, their low voices coming to an abrupt halt as soon as his arrival, but that doesn't stop him from rolling his eyes at their theatrics. The two of them have been huddling together for the past week, ever since the photographs had been delivered. They seemed to be taking turns to try and convince Harvey that this was a Serious Thing (although it's possible that they just play Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide who gets to be scorned next, because Mike has approached the subject far more often than Donna and everyone can beat Mike at that game, he has the most obvious tell).

“I hope you've managed to proof those Renfield briefs in between bouts of gossiping,” Harvey raised his eyebrow pointedly at Mike as he strode past them into his office. “Don't women usually save the gossip for the ladies' bathroom?”

“That's only when they want to talk about sex.” Mike followed after him, slamming down a stack of papers with more force than Harvey thought was necessary. “More came this morning, all from last week. Harvey, I really think it's time to do something about this.”

Harvey cast an unimpressed eye over the new photographs, more candid shots of Harvey in various locations across the city, all with painstakingly drawn red circles over his chest. His heart gave a painful lurch as he sees one from the day before, depicting Harvey watching as Mike rode off on his bike, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to prevent him from grabbing Mike by his collar and pushing him forcefully into the town car.

Harvey grabbed the pile, making sure that particular photo was tucked safely in the middle of the pile and shoving them into the drawer with the rest.

“And I've already told you it is completely pointless.” Harvey sat down in his chair, reaching gratefully for the coffee Donna had just brought into him. “Please tell me you haven't been encouraging this behaviour Donna, children tend to let their imaginations run away from them if the adults aren't careful.”

Donna ignored him, choosing instead to reach over and stick a post-it to his laptop screen. “James Sandford is rumoured to be looking for a new firm. Jessica wants you to woo him.” She walked back to her desk before she could be pulled into the conversation that Harvey could tell Mike wasn't going to let go.

“So, the Renfield briefs?” Harvey made a valiant effort anyway.

“Right here.” Mike handed him a thick file and frowned down at Harvey. “I realise that because you have some kind of superiority complex -”

“It's not a complex if it's true.”

“- but this doesn't mean that you are impervious to harm, Harvey. This is an actual threat, someone is actually threatening to shoot you. How can you be so cavalier about this?”

Harvey raised an eyebrow, lip twitching against a smirk threatening to develop. “Cavalier? I'm not sure I've ever been described as cavalier before. Did you get bored and read a thesaurus last night? If I'm not giving you enough work to keep you entertained kid, you only have to say so.”

“Harvey would you please just take this seriously?” Mike raked his hand through his blond hair and Harvey tried to pretend as though he wasn't tracking the movement.

“Did you find any problems with the brief?”

Harvey told Mike that he wasn't going to discuss it any further with a pointed glare, his gaze narrowing slightly when Mike opened his mouth to retort. Mike stared at him for a moment, then licked his lips and clenched his teeth together, looking down at the floor and giving Harvey a moment to bring his mind back from a daydream involving Mike's mouth.

“Yeah,” Mike said finally, slumping down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk, the tense line of his jaw the only sign that he wasn't happy. “We're going to have to take another look at the _uberrima fides_ section, because I don't think Salinger really understands...”

Mike finished explaining the problem with the brief, then left to go back to his cubicle, giving Donna a slight shake of his head as he passed. When Harvey asked Donna for the number for James Sandford, she walked back into the office to hand it to him instead of just dialling for him as per usual.

“You know he's just worried about you,” she said as she placed another post-it on his laptop.

“Like I said, children tend to have over-active imaginations. There's absolutely nothing to be worried about.” Harvey picked up his phone, studiously avoiding looking up at his assistant.

“I'm just saying, you listen to him about work, so maybe try listening to him about other things too.”

“I'm not going to waste police time on this Donna.”

Donna sighed. “That wasn't exactly what I meant.” She walked back to her desk, shaking her head at him as she went.

Harvey really didn't understand what all the fuss was about. It wasn't the first time he had pissed someone off to the point where they wanted to get back at him in the course of doing his job (last year, he had received in the mail a tie exactly like the one he had been wearing in court as he had successfully beaten back a lawsuit, ripped into tiny little pieces) and it certainly wouldn't be the last. It was a side effect of what he did; there was always going to be a losing side, and it was never going to be the side he sat on.

While it was a given that this most recent person had gotten more creative than any of his predecessors, this didn't mean that Harvey should react to the situation any differently. In his experience with this sort of thing, no reaction was the best reaction, and as Harvey reads people and situations with an almost prescient accuracy, he didn't see why Mike couldn't trust his judgement on this.

Sandford's secretary informed Harvey that he was available for a late lunch that afternoon and Harvey heard Donna making reservations for his favourite sushi restaurant as he left his office to find Jessica, shaking off any lingering thoughts over just why Mike was taking this so seriously.

“Lunch date?”

Harvey pressed the button for the elevator and looked over his shoulder, his eyes travelling over Mike as he leaned against the wall.

“Meeting with a client.”

“Need any help?” Mike stood up straight, hands smoothing down his tie, and Harvey smirked at the obviously feigned nonchalance.

“Are you worried I'm going to get attacked as soon as I leave the sanctity of the office?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “I just wanted to see you get your schmooze on, see if I can pick up some tips.”

Harvey looked him up and down, then sighed. “Fine. But not while you're wearing that tie. Go and ask Donna for a real one.”

“You gonna lend me your mink coat too?” Mike winked at him. “ _I'd look good in a mink coat, honey_.”

Harvey glared at him until he began to walk away, and if he happened to continue the movie quote well, that was between him and the elevator doors. _You'd look good in a shower curtain_.

 

* * *

 

 

Harvey has never understood the point of shirt sleeves with buttons. The fact that one side of the cuff has to curl in so that the button and eye fit together ruins the line of the entire sleeve, rendering the point of a long sleeved shirt completely moot. The sleeve of a jacket (according to René) is supposed to be exactly three quarters of an inch shorter than the sleeve of the shirt beneath, specifically designed so that the flash of a cuff link can be seen during a person's everyday movement. Nobody wants to see a button peeking out from underneath a jacket sleeve, and Harvey can't help but agree with René that buttoned sleeves are a crime against fashion.

Harvey has never even so much as tried on a shirt with buttoned sleeves; for his Halloween costumes Harvey would cut off the buttons and cut a hole through the cuff, completing the look with a borrowed pair of cufflinks from his father's bedside drawer. When he worked in the mailroom at Pearson Hardman (before Jessica noticed his potential) Harvey spent as much as his paycheck allowed on proper shirts, and he wore the pair of cufflinks his father had bought him for his eighteenth birthday. Sometimes he suspects that Jessica picking him out of the mail room had a lot to do with his shirt sleeves and baseball cuff links.

Of course, Harvey knows that the button-less sleeves aren't the only priority in the choice of shirts; cufflinks also have to be taken into consideration. René has taught him that it's just not done to wear large flashy cufflinks with a high collar; the eye should be drawn to either the neck or the wrist, both at once is taking things too far. It is also essential to take into consideration the colours used to make the suit as a whole; pale greys and blues pair perfectly with matt silver cufflinks, whereas a high shine or a strategically placed crystal works better with darker hues. The width of the pinstripe is also important; a cufflink should not be wider than the measurement between stripes. Harvey understands that in order to make a suit work to its fullest potential, he must have a good choice of cufflinks to choose from. This is why Harvey has over the years collected a wide variety of them, which he sends to the jewellers in a large box once a month to be cleaned and polished. Harvey also has a cufflink box in his office, for those rare occasions when he rolls up his sleeves, too preoccupied with a case to pay as much attention to his pristine ensemble but needs a place to keep his cufflinks safe.

Mike still wears buttoned sleeved shirts, despite the number of times that Harvey has frowned disapprovingly down at his cuffs. He is starting to suspect that Mike gets a perverse pleasure out of continuing to forgo cufflinks and real sleeves, just as he does from wearing those ridiculous skinny ties. But Harvey's cufflinks have become just as important to him as the three-piece-suits and he doesn't understand why other people don't realise why these things are important.

It's only much later, as he stands in a daze in one of the hospital restrooms trying to block out the image of Mike's wide blue eyes glazing over, looking down at the once sparkly blue diamond square cut cufflinks now smeared with Mike's blood that he thinks maybe they aren't quite as important as he thought they were.

 

* * *

 

 

The next week, Harvey was already anticipating coming across yet another not-so-covert meeting between his assistant and his associate, so when he rounded the corner to his office he wasn't surprised to find them both standing by his desk, holding yet another sheaf of glossy photographs. They both straightened up as they heard him, exchanging a look before turning their gazes upon him.

Harvey tried to suppress a sigh as he moved behind his desk. Even though he couldn't take the threat seriously (because in all honesty what kind of criminal mastermind would let him know he was being photographed?) he could at least admit that the deliveries were getting tiresome. This was the third Wednesday in a row that he had received a brown envelope filled with pictures of himself, all with a drawn rifle sight over his chest; each one sporting the word 'soon' scrawled across the back.

“I think I've had enough of this now,” Mike said by way of greeting. “Harvey this is stupid, it's time to call the police.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow at him. “And here I was thinking I was the one who told you what to do, not the other way round.”

Harvey watched as Mike flashed an angry look at Donna, who merely raised her eyebrows at him. “Harvey, this has been going on for three weeks now -”

“Exactly.” Harvey cut across him. He had been up late working on his opening speech and he had a full morning of depositions to take ahead of him and he just did not have time for this. “It's been going on for three weeks, and in that time exactly nothing has happened. If nothing has changed in that span of time, I think we can safely assume that it won't.”

“But that's exactly the point,” Mike snapped, fingers slipping through the bunch of photographs and pulling one out. He slammed it face down on the desk in front of Harvey, his index finger tapping the black scrawl across the back. “Something has changed.”

Harvey looked down at the photo with a put-upon sigh, his brow crinkling as he saw the difference. Instead of the word 'soon', the black ink inscribed the word 'Friday'.

“This is a direct threat,” Mike said, his voice rough with frustration. “Whoever this guy is, he's going to do something on Friday. We have to... why the fuck are you smiling?”

Harvey grinned wider. “What are we doing on Friday?”

“We're in court.” It didn't matter what was happening around him; ask Mike a question and he had to answer it, it was like an innate impulse.

“Exactly.” Harvey pulled the rest of the photos from Mike's grasp and threw them all together into the drawer with the others. “We will be in court, all day, which is the last place anyone would ever try to do anything stupid.” He flicked his gaze up to Donna, who nodded and left the office to get his coffee, signalling to him with an eyebrow. “Now, I have a lot to do today, as do you, so let's get started. The quicker we depose the quicker we can work on our argument.”

“Harvey -”

“Mike. How about I promise to think about telling the police, after the trial?”

Mike looked at him for a moment, his blue eyes widening. “I... yeah okay.”

Harvey nodded. “Anything to shut you up. Now, we need the intestacy document and...”

 

* * *

 

 

It was lunchtime on Friday before anyone brought up the situation again, and as Harvey predicted, it was Mike. They had had a busy couple of days getting everything ready for the trial but the work looked to be paying off nicely, not that Harvey ever thought otherwise.

Judge Lentz knocked his gavel on the polished wood bench and called for an hour recess for lunch, and Harvey stood up, clapping his hand on Mike's shoulder.

“Come on kid, you can buy me a 'dog.”

“You're going outside?” Mike pulled away from Harvey's touch and looked at him, his jaw tight.

“Well unless you know of a better way to get across the street? Hey, maybe we could climb down the sewers?”

“How about I just bring you one back?” Mike slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and tried to walk past Harvey.

“Mike, I thought we covered this the other day. I tell you what to do, not the other way round.” Harvey stalked towards the doors, leaving Mike to scramble after him.

The sun hit Harvey in the eyes as he walked out onto the top step and he blinked, momentarily blinded. By the time he could see properly, Mike had managed to overtake him, standing next to him a step below.

“Tell you what, if I get to the cart before you, you have to have one with all the trimmings.” Mike grinned up at Harvey, who raised an eyebrow at him.

“I'm your boss, not your nanny. Go find some other kids to play with. After we win.”

“I've seen the way you eye up my mustard,” Mike said as they walked down the steps, Harvey's eyes on the hotdog cart across the road, Mike's on the cars parked along the sidewalk. “I think you secretly want it, but just don't want to risk getting anything on your snazzy suit.”

Harvey huffed out a laugh, inwardly marvelling at how well the the kid subconsciously knew him. Mike started to change course, cutting in front of Harvey and blocking him from taking the next step down. A car backfired and Mike jumped, his shoulder slamming backwards into Harvey's chest.

“Oof,” Mike said, leaning back against Harvey. He turned his head to look back at him. “Sorry,” Mike whispered faintly, and then his legs gave out beneath him.

Harvey stumbled back slightly under the sudden weight of Mike as he slid down to the step, Harvey's hand grazing Mike side as he tried vainly to steady him. Harvey was about to make a comment on this being precisely why Red Bull for breakfast was a terrible lifestyle choice, when he felt something wet slick down his palm. Harvey stared at the red liquid, the world fading out around him as his mind refused to make sense of what was happening. A woman in a cream coat a few paces away from him suddenly started screaming and Harvey's world snapped back into focus, sights and sounds suddenly razor sharp. Noises battered Harvey from all sides; screams and shouts as people started ducking down behind parked cars, pleas for someone to call 911, a car screeching away from the curb; but the loudest sound to Harvey was the gasping breaths of Mike as he lay at his feet.

Harvey fell to his knees beside Mike, watching for a moment as a deep red stain blossomed out over the right hand side of Mike's buttoned sleeve shirt, blood leaking out of a hole the size of a dime.

“H-Harvey...”

Mike's voice was nothing more than air and Harvey leaned down over him, pressing his hands down over the wound, his white cuffs soaking up the blood slipping through his fingers. Mike groaned against the pressure and Harvey shushed him, looking into his wide blue eyes, forcing the kid to stay there with him, trying to ignore the way his already pale skin had already taken on a grey tint, the way his own knees were starting to feel warm and wet.

“I'm sorry, God, I'm so sorry...”

Distantly, Harvey heard sirens coming closer but he didn't look up; he was too busy watching uselessly as Mike's arm rose slowly off the ground, his fingers grabbing for purchase in Harvey's jacket to pull him closer, the smell of copper lodging in the back of his throat.

“It's not... your... fault,” Mike whispered haltingly, and Harvey felt something inside him crumple under the weight of shock and guilt.

 _Yes. It is_.

 

* * *

 

The drive to the hospital took less than ten minutes, but it felt more like hours to Harvey. He sat in the back of the ambulance, watching the paramedic move around as he pressed gauze pads to Mike's chest, throwing medical phrases over his shoulder at the driver. Harvey caught words like _decreased breath sounds on the right side_ and _possible hemothorax_ and _fractures of the fourth and fifth ribs_ but Harvey was too busy staring at the waxy sheen on Mike's skin and the dull glaze on his half closed eyes to pay much attention to either of the two other men. The ambulance swayed from side to side as the driver picked his way through the city traffic, but Harvey felt like he was hardly moving. Above his head medical equipment rattled in their boxes and the sirens screamed their approach but the noises were all muted to Harvey. His world had shrunk down to the shallow, rapid movements of Mike's chest, the whisper-quiet wheezing sounds slipping out from under the oxygen mask, the pale skin streaked with red.

The ambulance pulled to a sudden stop and seconds later the sun blinded Harvey once more as the doors were yanked open. People in blue scrubs stood waiting, pulling on latex gloves and nodding along to the paramedic's rushed words as they lifted down the stretcher. Harvey stepped down from the ambulance and a tiny hispanic woman tugged on his arm, forcing him to look away from Mike as the stretcher was set on its wheels and pushed in the direction of the emergency room doors.

“Are you his husband?” The woman asked him, holding his arm tightly as she guided him into the hospital proper.

“What?” Harvey looked down the hall, his eyes following the path of the stretcher. “No, I'm... I'm his boss.”

“I see.” The nurse pulled him in the direction of the reception desk and picked up a folder. “There are some things we're going to need to know, in order to treat him properly,” she squeezed his elbow gently to get his attention, and he looked back at her. “Blood type, allergies, that sort of thing.”

Harvey nodded. “I can find that out. Can I go in there with him?”

The nurse smiled understandingly at him. “Only family members and emergency contacts allowed past this point, I'm afraid.” She patted his arm. “Why don't you find me that information and then go and get cleaned up in the restroom over there, okay?” She pointed over his shoulder. “I'll come find you in a minute and give you an update.”

She bustled past him, pushing the double doors open with her shoulder and the sounds of harried voices and whirring machines floated over to Harvey through the gap. Harvey pulled his phone out of his inside pocket and pressed the speed dial button for his own office. He lifted his other hand up to run his fingers through his hair and the sight of his red streaked palm stopped him. His fingers were trembling and he heard more than felt his own breathing hitch in his chest.

“Harvey Specter's office.”

Harvey breathed out a trembling breath and tried to speak; his voice was soft, quiet.

“D-Donna...”

He heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Where are you?” Donna knew better than to ask what had happened right this moment.

“The Presbyterian,” Harvey whispered.

“Stay right where you are, I'll be right there.” The line went dead.

Harvey pushed the phone back into his pocket with trembling fingers and stumbled over to the restroom, pushing his way inside and leaning against the wall. He took great shuddering breaths as he tried to calm himself, images of Mike on the floor beneath his hands assaulting him one after another. He pushed himself away from the wall and wobbled over to the sinks, reaching out to turn on the cold water. Then he stopped, and slowly lifted his gaze to his reflection in the mirror.

There were smudges of blood on his cheek and under his chin; a single bloody fingerprint on his white shirt collar. His pale blue silk tie had turned an ugly shade of brown; the pale blue pinstripes on his jacket and vest were no longer visible. The knees of his pants were sticky and damp and his white shirt cuffs were stained a deep red. Harvey lifted his hands and studied the blood smeared cuff links, the light blue crystal a pale shadow of the colour and brightness of Mike's eyes.

Suddenly jolted into action, Harvey pulled forcefully at the cuff links, ripping them from the holes and throwing them in the sink, a vicious thrill coursing through him as he watched them knock together and slide over the lip of the plughole. Harvey yanked his tie from under his vest, pulling the scrap of fabric from around his neck, almost strangling himself with the violence of his actions. He threw the offending article in the direction of the waste bin, forgetting it immediately as he moved on to his jacket and then his waistcoat, stitches popping as he ripped and pulled, throwing them after the tie one by one. His cuffs flapped uselessly around his wrists and Harvey rolled them up above his elbow methodically, making sure that none of the fabric soaked in Mike's blood was touching his skin.

Being careful not to look at his reflection again, Harvey reached for the faucet, sticking his hands under the spray and watching the water turn red beneath his fingers. He pressed down on the liquid soap dispenser over and over again, until the creamy liquid dripped over the edges of his palm, and then he started scrubbing, using his nails to dig into his hands and wrists, not stopping until the water turned from red to pink to clear again. Then he reached for some paper towels, dampening them down and scrubbing at his arms, popping the top two buttons of his shirt so he could clean his face and neck, his skin turning pink as he rubbed it raw.

When he was done, Harvey turned off the faucet and looked up at his reflection. Except for the fingerprint on his collar and his still sticky and damp knees, he looked clean enough. Slowly, against his will his gaze travelled upwards, meeting his own eyes. Guilt-laden hazel eyes stared accusingly back at him, and Harvey squeezed them shut.

“Jesus fuck Harvey, what the hell have you done?” he asked himself in a hoarse whisper. A sudden image of what Mike's face would look like if he could hear him swearing at himself rose unbidden in Harvey's mind and he began to laugh, a high, thready, unnatural sound.

For the longest time he found he couldn't stop.

 

* * *

 

 

Time slipped away from Harvey as he braced his hands against the sink in the hospital restroom, hysterical laughter echoing off the tiled walls before devolving into noises that were half hiccup, half sob. He didn't know how long he had been in there, but eventually Harvey became aware of a familiar voice floating to him from the reception. He took a deep breath and slapped some cool water on his face, removing any trace of the tears that had leaked out if his eyes from his bout of hysteria. Drying his hands and face, he opened the door, leaving his discarded clothing in the corner of the room.

“... as I've already explained, Mr Ross doesn't have any family members, and Mr Specter has been named as his emergency contact for the past year.” Donna's voice was quietly deadly, yet still managed to reverberate around the reception area. She handed over a file to the nurse behind the desk. “Here is Mr Ross's medical history and family background. Now I'm going to go find Mr Specter and then you can take him through to see Mike.”

The nurse's eyes flicked over to where Harvey was leaning against the restroom doorway, and Donna followed her gaze, her eyes widening as she took in his appearance. Her hands twitched by her sides, as though she wanted to reach out to him, but then her usual professional demeanour took control again.

“Harvey, there you are.” She walked over to him, leaving the nurse to take Mike's records through to the doctors. Her gaze locked with his, and he drew strength from her, forcing himself to stand upright and pull his image back together. He didn't need the flawless suit; he could pull off Harvey Specter, best Closer in New York City in a pair of sweatpants and a baseball cap.

“I'm Mike's emergency contact?”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”

Harvey thought about it, and realised it made sense. After all, he had chosen Jessica as his own emergency contact after his father passed away and his brother moved across the country.

Donna quirked an eyebrow, her usual expression for when she thinks he's being deliberately obtuse about something. And to be fair, he usually is, but he doesn't think he is this time.

“I called Jessica. She's sent Louis over to the courthouse to ask for a continuance, which she's fairly confident we'll get. Judge Lentz is one of the good ones.” Donna opened her bag and pulled out her phone, thumb flying over the buttons. “I've also informed the client, who says, and I quote, “Oh my God, give him a kiss from me, Mike is just the sweetest guy.”” Donna put the phone back in her bag. “Apparently Mike's made quite an impression on Mr Willis.”

Harvey nodded; Mike seemed to leave an impression on everybody he met. The doors to the emergency room swished open and the nurse walked back through, her eyes fixed on them both. Harvey narrowed his gaze at the small sympathetic smile on her lips; he didn't like what that implied.

“The doctors have managed to stabilise him, for now,” she said, voice soft. “They're about to take him up for surgery, but you have a few minutes, if you'd like to see him.”

Donna whirled to the side and slid gracefully into one of the seats, her phone still in her hand as she typed out more instructions for people. “You go on Harvey, I'll be here.” She flicked her eyes to the door and back again, and for a moment Harvey thought he saw something like worry under her cool professionalism. He blinked once, and when he looked again it was gone.

The nurse gently grasped his elbow and guided him through the doors. The smell hit him first; the sting of antiseptic and the sharp metallic tang of blood assaulted his nose and he started breathing through his mouth. The lights were bright and stung Harvey's eyes, and he struggled to focus as the nurse pulled a long white curtain from around a bed.

Harvey inhaled sharply and his vision blurred at the sight laid open before him. Mike lay on his back, white sheet spotted with blood pulled up to his waist. An oxygen mask covered a tube down his throat, and there were needles in the backs of both his hands, skin stretched taut and pale beneath the tape. A doctor in a pair of scrubs that had probably been green at some point but were now a murky brown had his hands pressed against Mike's rib cage, holding handfuls of what looked like cotton wool against his skin.

But none of those things held Harvey's attention. Instead, it was the steady _drip, drip, drip_ of blood as it trickled over the side of the table, landing in a small dark puddle on the floor. The edges of the pool had come into contact with the doctor's sneakers, and Harvey felt like he might pass out. The man was _standing in a pool of Mike's blood_. He clenched his hands into fists by his side in an effort to keep his fingers from shaking.

“Mr Specter?”

A hand came to rest on his shoulder and Harvey jumped, turning to find an older woman in blue scrubs looking at him. She had the same sympathetic smile on her face as the nurse. He was really beginning to despise that look.

“I'm Doctor Warren, I'll be operating on Mr Ross as soon as the OR is prepped.” She looked over the notes in her hand, her eyes flicking up to Mike's still form on the table. “Nurse Alvarez will need you to sign some forms. She'll give them to you once we've gone up.”

“Is...” Harvey swallowed against the lump in his throat and tried again. “Is he going to be alright?”

Dr Warren stopped looking at her notes and looked up at Harvey, her expression turning grave. “I'm not going to lie to you Mr Specter, it doesn't look good. The bullet fractured two of Mr Ross's ribs, and the impact sent the shards into his lung in several places. One of them also nicked an artery, so he has massive internal bleeding and extensive blood loss.” She placed her small hand back on his shoulder as she looked at him seriously. “We'll do our best, of course, but you need to prepare yourself. Even if Mr Ross makes it through surgery, there's no guarantee he'll wake up afterwards. There was a while when his brain wasn't getting much oxygen.”

The doors behind him slammed open before Harvey could start to comprehend what he had just been told. Two nurses moved towards the table and the doctor holding the gauze to Mike hopped onto the side of the bed as they kicked off the brake.

“They're ready for us now,” Dr Warren patted him slightly and moved to follow the table through to the elevators.

As Mike's pale form passed Harvey, he saw that the doctor's gloved hands weren't just pressed against him; they were actually _inside_ Mike's chest. Harvey's knees felt weak and for a moment he was actually grateful for the nurse's hand on his elbow as she steered him back to reception. His head in a daze, he felt himself being placed in a chair next to Donna, and then a few moments later a clipboard was placed into his limp hands. He stared down at the forms, unable to make much sense of the words swimming in front of him, and offered a tiny smile to Donna as she lifted them from him and settled them in her lap.

“I can fill out most of these,” she said simply. “I'll read them out if I come across any I don't know.”

“You're Donna, you know everything.” Harvey said automatically, his voice rough.

Donna poked him with her elbow. “Damn right I do.”

 

* * *

 

 

And so Harvey sat there, in the waiting area with sticky seats and terrible offerings of coffee, the knees of his pants stained dark, his collar undone and his cuffs rolled up, waiting for some news about Mike. He and Donna took turns in pacing around the room, buying styrofoam cups of coffee for each other from the vending machine down the hall opposite. Harvey read over the pamphlets littering the walls so many times he could probably quote them verbatim, just like Mike could have done after glancing at them once. Donna's phone was barely out of her hand, as she fielded calls to Harvey from people at the firm and negotiated with the clients that Harvey was supposed to be meeting with throughout the rest of the day. At one point, the police turned up, wishing to speak with Harvey about the incident. Donna shielded him like an attack dog, her arms spread out to her sides and her chin held high, informing them that they would have to come back later, when Mike was out of surgery. They took one look at her stern look and her wicked looking high heels and backed away, as people always do, promising they would be back. Harvey almost wanted to tell Donna to let them past, almost wanted to get it out of the way so they could get on with finding the bastard who did this, but he was too drained and he knew he wouldn't be able to win against Donna in his current state. So he stayed quiet, his eyes on the elevator doors, waiting for news from the operating room.

About six hours of waiting passed, and Harvey was sitting facing the bank of elevators, his head leaning against the wall. His back burned from the uncomfortable seats and his eyes itched from lack of moisture, and he was just wondering if his stomach could handle another cup of disgusting coffee without protesting violently when the elevator chimed, and Dr Warren stepped out.

Wisps of her brown hair stuck out from under her scrub cap, and she walked slowly towards them with the gait of someone who had been standing in one place for far too long. She sat down in the seats across from Harvey, and Donna ended her fifty seventh phone call mid sentence.

“We managed to stop the bleeding,” Dr Warren began without preamble. “And we located the bullet and the bone shards, and we've successfully patched the holes in Mr Ross's lung.”

Harvey frowned. The words sounded like they should mean good news, but the look on the doctor's face didn't match up.

“So...” Harvey looked up and held Dr Warren's gaze and she stared back, unblinking.

“However, Mr Ross remains... unresponsive,” she said calmly, her shoulders pulling in on themselves. Harvey wondered disconnectedly how many times this woman has had to deliver bad news in her career. “His GCS is currently at a 6, which indicates a deep comatose state. I'm sorry.”

Harvey stared at the doctor, unwilling or unable to understand exactly what she was telling him.

Donna cleared her throat. “Will- when will he wake up?” Her hand slid over to Harvey's, fingers digging into the skin sharply. The pain helped him focus.

Dr Warren opened her mouth, but hesitated before speaking. “We'll keep monitoring him but, if over the next five hours there's no improvement, then the chances of recovery are... slim.” The last word slipped out quietly, her voice breaking slightly.

“Slim, how?” Harvey asked, needing to know the details.

“Less than ten percent.” The doctor's brown eyes were sad. Harvey frowned and looked away.

“Can we see him?”

She nodded. “He's in the ICU, I'll take you up to him.” She stood up wearily and they followed her to the elevator, Donna's fingers still gripping Harvey's hand.

 

* * *

 

 

The light outside the window had long since turned a deep purple, but still Harvey hadn't moved. He sat next to Mike's bed, back to the door, feet up and resting on the chair in front of him. One hand played with the open neckline of his shirt while the other rested against Mike's, fingertips touching.

The hiss and whirr of the machines in the room kept time with the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Harvey had spent four of the last six hours staring at the machine as the green line ticked up in time with the compression of air as it was forced into Mike's lungs. It was too slow, too uniform, and Harvey hadn't been able to stand it at first. He had sat there for a while, telling Mike all about a pro bono case that had just landed on his desk. A young single mother was being sued by her former dental practice for not telling them she had moved home. Harvey's eyes hadn't strayed from the monitor the entire time he was giving Mike the details, waiting for the righteous indignation to set in and his heart rate to climb up as he got angry on the woman's behalf. But nothing had happened, and Harvey had cast around for something else to talk about, something that would force Mike to listen to him and wake the fuck up. He complained about the skinny ties his associate wore, moaned about how he would have to get the incompetent Harold to do all his proofing while Mike was recovering, even whined about how he hadn't had a chance to get that hotdog and now he was starving and it was all Mike's fault. When none of that had worked, Harvey had taken to wrapping his fingers around Mike's wrist, almost desperate in his need to elicit some form of response from his still form.

The last two hours had been different. Harvey had sat slumped in the uncomfortable seat, his hand barely touching Mike's as he stared unseeingly through the window. The push and pull of the machinery on the opposite side of the bed tapped out a rhythm for his thoughts, perfectly in time with his inner mantra, _you did this_.

The doctors had been in an hour ago, and Harvey had leaned against the wall and watched as they'd turned off the respirator and waited for some kind of sign from Mike that he was starting to breathe on his own as they checked all his vitals. Dr Warren's eyes had flicked over to him briefly before looking at her colleague. She shook her head slightly and reconnected the respirator, making a quick note on the chart in her hands.

“I take it nothing's changed?” Harvey had asked from his position against the wall, his eyes tracking the movement of the air compressor as it squeezed in rhythm with the rise and fall of Mike's chest.

“No, I'm sorry.” The doctors and nurses had filed out of the room, but Dr Warren stopped in front of him, placing her hand on his arm.

“So, what's next? What do we do now?”

She'd looked up at him, her eyes sad. “We wait. That's all we can do. We'll keep monitoring him of course. It might just be that Mr Ross needs time. That happens sometimes.”

“Does it happen often?” Harvey couldn't take his eyes away from Mike. “Do people come back from this often?”

“It happens, although rarely, if I'm being honest. His GCS still hasn't dropped below a 6, which is a good sign.” Dr Warren's eyes had followed Harvey's gaze to look at Mike's still form. “If anyone can pull out of this, I think Mr Ross can. He seems like an extraordinary young man.” She'd patted his arm and left the room, the door clicking shut quietly behind her.

Harvey had stayed where he was for a moment, the wall against his back just managing to stop him from sinking to his knees. “You have no idea how extraordinary.”

And so Harvey had sat in the uncomfortable chair by Mike's side, feet propped up as he stared blankly through the window for the last hour. Donna had left a few hours before, telling him that she needed to go back to the office and do some damage control. Harvey had known that it had just been an excuse – Donna could arrange for a space shuttle to set off to Mars while sitting in a bathroom stall if she needed to – but he hadn't questioned it; sitting around unable to do anything drove him to distraction too.

He heard the door behind him click open, but he didn't turn around. The scent of Clive Christian No. 1 wafted over him, and he felt a hand slide over his shoulder.

“Jessica. You finished for the day?” Harvey pulled his feet up off the chair in front of him and sat up straight.

“Yes. And so are you.” Jessica moved round in front of him and placed her handbag on the opposite chair. “I'm here to drive you home.”

“No.” Harvey didn't look up at her. “I'm fine here, thank you Jessica.”

Jessica laughed hollowly. “I'm sorry, maybe I didn't make myself clear. You are going home now, and that is a direct order.”

Harvey looked up at her then, noticing the way her gaze kept dancing over the bed next to her. “Jessica. I'm not going to leave him alone.”

Jessica smiled sadly at him. “And you won't be. Rachel is right outside the door, she's volunteered to do the night shift so that you can get some sleep. Now come on.” She picked up her bag and walked over to open the door, inviting the paralegal inside the room.

Harvey stood up, letting his fingers brush lightly over Mike's hand, his eyes flicking over to the monitor, just in case. Nothing. He turned to see Rachel standing at the end of the bed, looking down at Mike with tears in her eyes. Her hand stretched out and she gripped his ankle through the blankets.

Harvey cleared his throat. “If anything happens while I'm gone...”

Rachel nodded jerkily, fumbling through her handbag for a tissue. “Donna's already given me the speech. If anything happens, I'll call her, and she'll call you.” She looked up at him tremulously.

Jessica put her hand on his elbow. “Come on, Harvey. You look terrible.”

“I think you mean to say I look dashingly handsome.” Harvey spared a last look over his shoulder as he let Jessica lead him away. Rachel had sat down in his chair and was leaning over the bed, her fingers stroking Mike's hair back from his forehead. He felt a brief flash of jealousy over the young girl being able to be more familiar with his associate than he could.

The drive back to his apartment was quiet, with neither Harvey nor Jessica seeming willing to break the silence. As the town car pulled up against the curb, Jessica's arm shot out and she wrapped her fingers over his shoulder.

“I take it you'll be going back to the hospital in the morning?” Harvey nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “I'll talk to Louis tomorrow, see what we can do about your most immediate clients.” She squeezed his shoulder slightly. “Get some sleep Harvey. You're no good to anyone when you're this burned out. Especially Mike.”

Harvey got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk for a moment, watching the car pull away. The doorman held the door open for him and he smiled absently, barely noticing the looks his state of dress was garnering from the reception staff. He stepped into the elevator and leaned against the handrail, fatigue suddenly catching up with him and leaving him feeling drained.

He let himself into the apartment and walked into the kitchen, knowing he should find himself something to eat; he was dimly aware of having eaten nothing all day since his fruit salad early that morning. He opened the refrigerator and stared at the contents.

And then suddenly he was there again, at the courthouse, blithely insisting to Mike that he wanted a hotdog. The screams of passersby and the coppery tang of blood washed over him and he swayed, feeling the hot sticky liquid spilling out over his hands all over again. He slammed the refrigerator shut and walked out of the kitchen and into his bedroom, stripping off the rest of his suit. He grabbed a laundry bag and shoved the clothes inside, tying it up and walking it out to the garbage shoot. His hands were shaking and when he looked down at them, the image of them covered in blood flashed across his eyelids. He moved into the bathroom and started the shower, turning it as hot as it would go.

He stood beneath the stinging spray, scrubbing at his hands and arms, swiping at his knees viciously when he noticed the dark pink stain spread across them. He scrubbed every inch of himself that he could reach, until his skin glowed pink and his nails left long red scratches across every part of himself that Mike's blood had touched. He leaned his hands against the charcoal tile and let the hot water scald its way down his neck and back as he concentrated on breathing.

And then, finally, he broke. A small gasp that could have been mistaken for a sob left his lips as he finally let his body do what it had been trying to do since that moment on the steps outside the courthouse. He slid to his knees and then sank down further, his arms resting on his thighs as he cradled his head in his hands. He stayed like that until long after the water turned cold.

 

* * *

 

 

Working at Pearson Hardman was as terrifying as it was exhilarating for Mike. When he first arrived and laid eyes on the building in front of him, he had been awed and speechless. The expanse of metal and glass reaching up into the sky as though it could actually touch Heaven if it so chose made Mike feel as though he was about to step through a portal into the future as he pushed open the doors. The inside was just as alien to Mike; the sharply dressed people striding around importantly had given Mike the distinct impression that he could never fit in. It wasn't like he had never met a person in a snazzy suit before – he had after all lived in New York his whole life – but the sheer number had overwhelmed him. He thanked his lucky stars for his eidetic memory as he followed Rachel around in a daze, because he knew he had been so awestruck by his surroundings that he wouldn't have remembered a word she said to him otherwise. The glass panelled offices and the cream carpet that soaked up all the noise had filled him up with terror; he could imagine all too easily him accidentally breaking a window or spilling coffee on the perfect floor. Just another thing to add to his list of Why This Might Be A Bad Idea.

He had spent most of his first morning with his heart pounding out a merengue over all the seriously scary and unknown shit that surrounded him, along with the paralysing certainty that someone would figure out his secret and throw both Harvey and himself out on the street. However, when he finally got his chance to meet with Harvey, he calmed down almost immediately. Because while Harvey might strut down the hallways like he owned the place, smug smirk firmly in place as everyone else scurried out of his way, there was still an air about him that spoke to Mike, and told him that he wasn't the only one who didn't fit in around here. It wasn't in the same way as Mike, who was so far out of his league he was playing a completely different sport. Harvey was most definitely equal with the best of the self-important strutters, and he outstripped everyone (except possibly Jessica, because the woman just exudes Terrifying-Professional-Do-Not-Mess-With-Me. She probably does it while she's sleeping too.)

But still, while on the surface Harvey looked like he was the King of the Sharply Dressed, there was still an air about him that suggested he was different. Maybe it was the basketballs and baseballs lining his office desks. Or possibly the millions of old records and the gramophone. Perhaps it was a mix of both, mixed in with the habit Harvey had of staying late into the night, jacket off and sleeves rolled up, his slicked back hair and waistcoat giving him the semblance of a private investigator from the Forties as he sipped his whiskey. Mike had never been able to put his finger on why exactly he felt that Harvey was an outsider just like him, but the feeling of comfort it gave him, knowing that he wasn't alone in being alone, was there all the same, wrapped around him like a faded and worn out but well loved sweatshirt.

Mike loves Harvey's obsession with suits, in fact, guessing the type of suit that Harvey will be wearing that day has become a favourite game for him to play as he rides to work. Although he pointedly sticks with his own cheaper suits and skinny ties – mainly just to see the look on Harvey's face, like it actually pains him to see them - Mike can definitely see the benefit of expensive suits when it comes to Harvey. Like the way the sharp lines of the crisp collars highlight the edge of Harvey's jaw, for instance. Or the way the waistcoat accentuates his broad shoulders and toned biceps. Even – occasionally – the way the fabric of his pants cling to him in all the right places. And if the thought of ruffling up that smooth image frequently makes its way into his late night/early morning fantasies, well. That's between Mike and his right hand.

So it's not really all that surprising that the first thought that pops into Mike's brain when he sees the first set of photographs is how ridiculously attractive Harvey in his suits is from that angle.

He quickly realises that that's a stupid thing to think, but it stays in his head long enough that he can't quite work out what the photographs are actually trying to say. And then he finally gets it, that someone is threatening Harvey, and something shifts in his mind, like a puzzle piece he didn't even know he was missing just slotted into place.

He's so busy panicking internally that he forgets himself for a moment, freezing in place and inhaling sharply as Harvey's fingers close around the bare skin of his wrist. Because he _can't lose Harvey_.

Harvey Specter blew into his life and turned it upside down and inside out, shaking loose every preconceived idea Mike had had about himself. The walls of Mike's life were crumbled and dusty, and Harvey knocked them all down and rebuilt them, strong and sturdy and able to withstand anything. But without Harvey, those walls would disintegrate, and Mike would be left with nothing. He finally has the life he never even realised he wanted, and it was all because Harvey decided to take a chance on the kid with a briefcase full of pot.

Mike was annoyed and worried after the first set of photographs arrive, but Harvey's clear dismissal over the incident made it hard for Mike to care for very long. Taking his cues from Harvey was something that Mike slipped into early on in their relationship, so he found it hard to do much more share a worried glance with Donna before moving onto the work that Harvey had given him.

It didn't stop him from talking to Donna about it though, which he did whenever he got the chance. He could tell that it worried her more than she let on, but she'd learned her lesson and if Harvey says he doesn't want to do anything about it, then she won't.

“You just have to trust him, Mike,” she whispered, as he leaned over her desk to look at the second arrival of photographs.

“I do.” Mike retorted, because it's true, he does. But he also knows Harvey, and while he might be able to read people and know exactly what they need, he sometimes forgets that not everyone can compartmentalise their emotions as easily as he can.

He slammed down the stack of photos on Harvey's desk. “More came this morning, all from last week. Harvey, I really think it's time to do something about this.”

“And I've already told you it is completely pointless.” Harvey sipped his coffee and looked back at Mike, one eyebrow raised. “Please tell me you haven't been encouraging this behaviour Donna, children tend to let their imaginations run away from them if the adults aren't careful.”

Donna ignored ignored them both, leaning over and placing a post-it note on Harvey's monitor. “James Sandford is rumoured to be looking for a new firm. Jessica wants you to woo him.”

“So, the Renfield briefs?” Harvey looked at the note and pulled out his cell phone.

“Right here.” Mike handed him a thick file and frowned down at Harvey, annoyed at the very non-subtle subject change. “I realise that because you have some kind of superiority complex -”

“It's not a complex if it's true.”

“- but this doesn't mean that you are impervious to harm, Harvey. This is an actual threat, someone is actually threatening to shoot you. How can you be so cavalier about this?”

Harvey raised an eyebrow, and Mike watched his lips twitching. “Cavalier? I'm not sure I've ever been described as cavalier before. Did you get bored and read a thesaurus last night? If I'm not giving you enough work to keep you entertained kid, you only have to say so.”

“Harvey would you please just take this seriously?” Mike ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“Did you find any problems with the brief?”

Mike opened his mouth to say something more, maybe something along the lines of listen Harvey, either you call the police or I will but then he stopped, decision forming in his mind.

If Harvey won't take this seriously and look into it, then Mike will just have to do it for him.

It took Mike a while to work out just how he could look into something without Harvey knowing, but by the time the third set of photographs landed on Donna's desk, he had decided to start simply. That set of pictures had been different, the word 'soon' replaced with 'Friday' in a way that made Mike's blood turn to ice in his veins. He knew Harvey would never agree with him, but he tried to argue anyway, because arguing with Harvey was as ingrained in him as answering direct questions, even though he knew it was hopeless. And when Harvey won, as he did ninety-seven percent of the time when he argued with Mike, his arms spread wide and smug grin making his eyes sparkle, Mike gave in easily. It was an easy thing to do, because he had already decided. He was going to look into this situation whether Harvey wanted him to or not. So that night, long after the bull pen had finally emptied and the library had become so quiet you could hear a pin drop, Mike shut himself in the file room and pulled out every past case Harvey had worked on and won. Which was, predictably enough, all of them. He skim read each case and placed them in piles according to his own ability to read people. Harvey might know instinctively a person's wants and needs, but Mike knew people's emotions and what might set them off. By 4:30am, Mike had a pile of two dozen cases that he thought might be connected to the photographs. He shoved them into his messenger bag and left Pearson Hardman just as dawn was breaking, swinging his leg over his bike and going home. He was going to find out who was sending these photographs, and then he was going to stop them before they could hurt Harvey.

Because Mike needed Harvey.

 

* * *

 

 

The next few days for Harvey passed with events so routine he found it hard to keep track of what day it was. He'd spend most of the nights alternating between staring up at his bedroom ceiling and leaning against his living room windows, looking down at the city lights as he nursed a glass of bourbon. Eventually, around dawn, his body would finally succumb to sleep, but he would be up again an hour or two later, plagued by dreams that left him waking up gasping for breath. He'd get dressed in something casual and call for Ray, who would drive him straight to the hospital. Donna would meet him there with a few case files and Harvey would relieve whichever office member had volunteered to spend the night with Mike. Harvey vividly remembered Monday, because he had been shocked to find Louis walking out of Mike's room. Harvey would then spend the day sitting next to Mike, making notes for himself and the colleagues who had taken over his clients in the short term. Most of the time he would read it all out loud to Mike, occasionally making a mistake on purpose, still hoping that the thought of catching Harvey in an error would be enough to make Mike wake up. He'd stopped staring at the monitor though; he'd taken to watching Mike's face instead, the dark blond eyelashes resting against skin so pale it looked bruised, the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

Once a day, Dr Warren would come in, unhook the respirator and perform some tests to see if Mike was responding, before giving Harvey a sad smile and hooking the machinery back up again. Wednesday had been a momentous day, one that had left Harvey feeling more exhausted than he had ever before felt by the time had had arrived home in the evening. Harvey had fallen asleep in the chair next to Mike's bed, his head falling sideways to rest on Mike's hip. He had been roused by Dr Warren laying her hand gently on his arm when she had come in to perform the daily tests. She had gone through the motions as Harvey had walked down the hall to find himself some coffee, and when he had returned the smile on her face was a little brighter.

“He's made some improvement, his GCS is now an 8.”

She'd smiled at him as she made notes on the chart, but Harvey hadn't paid her much attention past the word 'improvement'. He sat back down in his seat and spent the rest of the day watching Mike, waiting for him to wake up and start mocking Harvey for not being in a suit. But nothing had happened, and so Harvey had been forced out of the room and driven home by Donna, feeling utterly worn out from disappointment.

The police had been by a few times, both to talk to Harvey and to see if there had been any change in Mike's recovery. Donna had pulled them out into the hallway the third time they had shown up, forcefully telling them to leave until they were called for again. Harvey had given them the stack of photographs from his desk drawer, but had drawn a complete blank on who might be behind it. He'd left it to Donna to hand over the names of all the people he had won against in the past two years, trusting that someone will be able to find out who was behind what had happened.

By the time Friday rolled around, Harvey had never been so glad to have Donna in his life. She was already standing just outside the hospital's visitor entrance as Ray pulled up outside, holding a grande mocha latte in one hand and a bunch of files in the other. He almost moaned out loud as the first sip of caffeine reached his system, and they walked through the hallways together, Donna giving a quick summary of each file as she handed them over one by one.

“Jessica wants you to look over this one first, it's the PharmaCorps class action. You were supposed to be deposing this afternoon, but Jessica has handed it off to Harrison instead.”

“Are you kidding me? Harrison wouldn't know a class action from a kindergarten field trip.” Harvey pulled open the file and flicked through the pages quickly.

“I told Jessica you wouldn't be impressed.” Donna smirked slightly. “But apparently he's the only partner available right now, so you're stuck with him. Just make a few notes on what questions you want asked and what techniques you think will give him what we need, and I'll be back to pick them up at lunch. Sasabune okay for you today?”

“Yes, fine. What's that last file for?”

Donna tightened her grip on the papers in her hand, before slowly handing them over. “It's... It's Mike's pro bono case from last week. I thought... maybe he'd like to hear he won.”

Harvey took the file and placed it on the top of the stack and nodded. “I'll tell him. He did good on this case.”

Donna laughed as they came to a stop outside Mike's room. “Don't tell him that, we want him to wake up, not pass out in shock.”

Harvey grinned and pushed open the door. He paused on the threshold, as he always did, swallowing back the disappointment of not seeing Mike's blue eyes staring back at him.

“Gerald, don't you have work to do?”

The young associate scrambled up from his place beside Mike, tripping over his bag by his feet. Donna decided to take pity on him for once.

“Come on, I'll take you to the office. Please tell me you brought another suit to change into?” She sighed as the boy shook his head. “Fine. Just make sure Jessica doesn't see you looking like that. Harvey, I'll see you at lunch.” She grabbed the kid's arm and pulled him from the room, leaving Harvey alone with Mike.

He sat down and put the files on his lap, opening Mike's pro bono case first. “So, it seems you didn't actually mess this one up, kid, I'm surprised.” He flicked through to the conclusion and read it out out to the room. “At least I don't have to fist bump you this time.”

Harvey pulled out the class action file and grabbed a notebook and pen from the side table. “So, since we have to put this case in the very incapable hands of Harrison, we are going to have to make this as simple as possible so that he doesn't do it all completely wrong.” He read out the summary and the names and positions of the people he and Mike were supposed to be deposing together this afternoon, and began thinking out loud as he made notes.

 

* * *

 

Mike sat back against the couch as he read over the case file in front of him. Class actions didn't come along very often working at Pearson Hardman – at least, not where they represent the plaintiff, although he'd joined Harvey in defending against quite a few – and he wanted to make sure he was completely up to speed before Harvey arrived at work. He could hear a subtle beeping sound in the background and he frowned; it was wrecking his concentration. He rooted around in his pockets for his earbuds, but he couldn't find them; he must have left them at his cubicle. He sighed and hunched over the pages, hoping to drown out the sounds coming from the hallways.

“Shouldn't you have had all that memorised inside that freaky brain of yours by now?”

Mike looked up as Harvey crossed the room and sat down behind his desk, cup of coffee in hand.

“I do. I just like to double check.”

“Do you think there's something we've missed?” Harvey looked up at him, running his gaze over Mike's face and Mike bit back a smile; sometimes Harvey knew him so well.

He nodded. “I think there's a connection I'm not seeing. I was up most of the night thinking about it.” Mike sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose, almost jabbing his eye out with the pen in his hand.

“Okay, so tell me what's been bugging you,” Harvey said, turning his chair to face Mike and folding his hands in his lap.

This was what Mike liked most about Harvey; when he put his skills at reading people to work and gave Mike what he needed. He got up and started pacing the room, absently rolling up his sleeves as he moved.

“I think it's something to do with the senior technician. He said in his original statement that the control group was given a placebo, and that there was no crossover.”

“Right. That's what usually happens in a drug trial.” Harvey's eyes followed Mike's path as he travelled from the door to the desk and back again. “And we checked all the names. There wasn't any crossover.”

The connection finally clicked in Mike's head and he stopped, slapping his hand palm downwards on Harvey's desk in elation. “At the start of the trial there were fifteen members on the control group's list and forty-five were taking the drug.” He went back over to where he had spread out the file across the sofa, flicking through the pages until he found what he was looking for. “But, by the time the trial came to an end, there were fourteen members in the control group.” He handed the piece of paper to Harvey, who took it, frowning.

“So? People drop out of studies all the time, I still don't see the problem.”

Mike placed the other sheet of paper down in front of Harvey and grinned triumphantly, pointing down at the relevant paragraph. “But how often do the amount of drug takers go up?” Harvey's eyebrows shot up as he leaned over the page, and Mike watched his face, mesmerised by the way his lips moved as he read the passage.

“The member list went up by one name.”

“Yep, within a month of the control group losing a member.” Mike held his fist out to Harvey, who rolled his eyes and looked away pointedly. Mike was too excited by the fact that he might have found the breaking point on the case to care too much. He turned the action into a fist pump instead, and whirled around to collapse back on the couch.

“So, can I sit in with you on the deposition this afternoon?”

“No.” Harvey leant over his desk and typed out a few notes on the case.

“Oh come on, Harvey!”

“You can't sit in with me, because I won't be deposing anybody this afternoon.”

Mike looked up, confused. “What? Why? Has the schedule been changed?”

“Jessica's handed the case over to Harrison, he'll be deposing this afternoon.” Harvey still didn't look up, continuing typing. “So, if you want to join in on the proceedings, you'll just have to wake up and get out of that bed, won't you?”

Mike stared at Harvey. “I have to do _what_?”

Harvey finally looked up at him. “I need you to wake up, Mike,” he said softly.

Mike's head jerked down as he felt something brush his hand. It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing his fingers. He opened his mouth to ask Harvey what the hell was going on, but was interrupted by the office door swinging open.

“Here's your sushi,” Donna said, as she moved over to Harvey's desk.

“Sushi?”

Donna rolled her eyes. “I told you I was going to Sasabune for lunch today.”

Mike tried to move from off the couch, but his legs wouldn't move. The room in front of his eyes began to go fuzzy at the edges and his vision dimmed. He closed his eyes as the darkness took him, the sounds of Harvey and Donna talking about seaweed lulling him back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“Seaweed is pointless, the rice is sticky, it doesn't need anything wrapped around it to keep its shape!”

Harvey eyed Donna with amusement as she used her chopsticks to peel the seaweed from her salmon maki roll.

“You do realise that it's not just there for convenience. It adds to the flavour.” Harvey popped his own California roll into his mouth.

“All it adds is salt,” Donna grumbled, reaching for her cup of chai tea. She looked over at Harvey, her eyes taking in the bruises under his eyes and the pale skin stretched tight across his cheekbones. “You know, I could stay here with him, if you wanted to go home for a while. Maybe catch up on some sleep?”

Harvey shook his head and stuffed his empty carton back into the bag, not looking at Donna. “I'm fine here until tonight.” He studiously ignored Donna's raised eyebrow as she attempted to make eye contact with him and packed away the remainder of their lunch. “here's the notes for the class action.”

Donna took the proffered file and placed it in her bag, sighing as she sat back up.

“Harvey. Have you been getting any sleep at all?”

“Enough,” Harvey replied, putting the rest of his notes in order and placing them with the files. “You should take these back to Jessica. The deposition is supposed to be starting in a couple of hours. Harrison is going to need all the time he can get to prepare himself.”

Donna glared at him, but stood up and took the files he held out to her. “You know you can't go on like this forever, Harvey.”

“I'll see you later, Donna.”

Donna huffed and walked out of the room, sliding her hand down Mike's arm as she walked past the bed. Harvey finished his second mocha latte of the day and yawned against his fist. He hadn't gotten any sleep at all the night before, bad dreams plaguing him as soon as his eyes slid shut, and the caffeine hadn't helped much so far.

He looked over and Mike and let a wry smile cross his face. They certainly were a pair; one sleeping too much and the other not at all. Harvey wondered how much longer this would go on for. He wasn't stupid, he had seen the looks on the nurses' faces when they came in to check up on them. Their eyes were sad as they looked down at Mike, tubes criss-crossing over and into him, ventilation tube forcing his chest to keep in rhythm with the machines. But they changed slightly whenever they looked at Harvey. They seemed wary, as if wondering when the doctor would get around to having the inevitable talk so that they wouldn't have to keep treading on eggshells whenever they saw him. But Harvey had shut down Dr Warren whenever it seemed like she was trying to move the conversation round to long term decisions. He wasn't able to discuss something like that yet. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to.

He let his eyes scan over the monitor again, taking in the same monotonous upward ticks as they moved along the screen that had been there for the past week. He felt his eyelids start to droop as he listened to the rhythmic machine noises in the otherwise silent room. He was so tired, so he let himself go, feeling himself slump slightly into the side of the bed as his eyes drifted closed.

 

* * *

 

 

Being able to choose the right kind of suit for every occasion is a skill that Harvey Specter has perfected over the years. He knows the difference between the kind of suit he should wear to court compared to ones he should wear when trying to woo clients. With the latter, he needs to look impressive; his suit needs to say _I am amazing at everything I do, and you would be lucky to have me as your lawyer_. But for the former, his outfit needs to be more humble; he needs to project an air of respect, yet still convey his ability to do his job. He also needs to instill fear into the minds of his opponents, which is a fine line that Harvey has learned to walk along with ease, and with the help of René, of course.

His suits that he wears for a day at the office are lighter, both in colour and fabric. He needs the ease in order to move; be it sitting down at his desk or sauntering through the hallways looking important. Most of the time he chooses pale greys with lilac accents, the image he wants to project one of comfort and ease; this is _his_ playground, he owns these hallways and offices.

The suits that he puts on for office parties and schmoozing dinners are more flamboyant; the cut of the fabric tighter, the colours darkened to dark greys and blacks, with darker accents. The fabric is richer, heavier, denoting wealth and surety. The suits help him to project an air of smug aloofness; he got where he is today by just being _that damned good_. The image helps to pull potential clients in, dazzled by his skills put so proudly on display. The suits make people believe the reputation that precedes him; they are drawn to his winning streak, desperate for some of that to rub off on themselves.

The perfect suits for courtrooms are more difficult to discern; they need to be able to intimidate the opposition while still retaining that edge of respect that a judge requires. Harvey tends to lean towards the blues; navy suit and pale shirts that say _I understand my position_. But while the colours themselves project deference to the person in charge of the court proceedings, the accessories themselves say something entirely different. He purposefully picks out shoes and belts that scream money, outlandish almost to the point of garishness (although he never crosses that invisible line; he has far too much class for that). He angles these towards his opponents' table as he gives his opening statement, knowing how to get them on the ropes right from the whistle. The image of respectful yet confident is incongruous; it upsets the other side, and leaves them scrambling to comprehend. And by then, it's too late, and Harvey has them exactly where he wants them.

Choosing a suit for an occasion such as this, however, is something that Harvey has only had to do once before, years previously. Back then, he wasn't as confident in the art of dressing himself to perfection as he is now, and looking back he now realises the mistakes he made in choosing that suit. He wore dark grey in a woolen blend, accents in a lighter tone, complete with scarf. In retrospect, he probably looked ridiculous, and he is glad that it wasn't the kind of function that required the taking of photographs. People only take pictures of happy memories, after all.

The suit laying across his bed is a much better fit for this kind of occasion, one delicately balanced to acknowledge the loss that they have suffered, while still managing to appreciate the gift that they were given in the first place. The fabric is black, a pure cotton blend that hugs Harvey's figure in all the right places, yet still not crossing the line into inappropriate. The shirt is white, the collar stiff around his neck, a reminder to keep his head held high until he can get back into the safety of his apartment and finally let down his guard. His shoes sit at the end of the bed, polished to a high shine and waiting to walk him out to an event he never thought he would have to attend. The cufflinks he has already picked out are laying on top of his dresser. They're square shaped, half an inch wide and silver plated, a small inscription scrawled elegantly across the tops. _Best. Boss_. They had been given to him as a joke the previous Christmas, and Harvey had thrown them into a box in his wardrobe with a wry smile and the intention to never wear them, because they were cheap and completely not his style. Which the giver undoubtedly knew. But Harvey had gone searching that morning, because he had realised that they would be the perfect addition to his ensemble.

He comes out of the bathroom and dresses himself slowly, concentrating on his image in order to keep himself from thinking about the day ahead of him. He buttons his shirt and does up his pants, stepping into the shoes and pulling on the jacket. He's not wearing a waistcoat today; his way of remembering his loss in his own way. He places the cufflinks in his sleeves, turning them until they sit perfectly, then walks out into his living room. His phone chirps, letting him know that Donna has arrived with Ray and is waiting for him downstairs.

He looks around his apartment, and almost laughs at the feeling of emptiness the place gives him now. It shouldn't feel any different; at the office maybe, when he glances over to the sofas expecting to see him lounging there, curled over some briefs, highlighter cap rolling across his lips. When he walks through the bullpen, his eyes unconsciously flicking to the corner cubicle, a sharp stab of pain when he remembers it's still sitting unoccupied, waiting for its replacement. When he goes to the hotdog stand, almost forgetting for an instant and ordering two 'dogs, catching his mistake just in time. In court, feeling the touch of unused space where there should be someone standing next to him. All of these places should feel empty – _do_ feel empty – but not his apartment. They had barely spent more than an hour together within the confines of these four walls; but for some reason, this is where Harvey feels his loss the most acutely. Barely there fantasies that Harvey had tried his utmost to keep within the confines of his bedroom or shower stall now crowd around him, forcing themselves inside his conscious thought, burning themselves almost viciously onto the insides of his eyelids as soon as he steps foot inside the door of his home. Harvey had bought this apartment because of the view; floor to ceiling windows that looked out high over a wide expanse of New York. His home was the one place where he let his defenses down; the suit would come off and with it his armour, the image that he projected to everyone else, even the people he thought might have an idea of what hides beneath. Here, in this place, he had no image to uphold, no preconceived notion of who Harvey Specter was to maintain and endorse. This place had been his sanctuary; now it was a memorial for all the things he never let himself want and now could never have.

Harvey picks up the last remaining item of clothing from the kitchen counter (he had found it in the same place in his wardrobe as the cufflinks where he had put it after finding it in his pocket months ago, giving René heart palpitations at the mere sight of it if the man's sudden need to sit down and breathe into a paper bag had been any indication) and steps into the elevator. He walks slowly towards the town car, giving Ray a tight lipped smile as the man opens the door for him.

“Haven't seen that suit before,” Donna remarks, as the door closed softly behind him. “Is it new? It's nice.”

Harvey lets his eyes flick over her, his eyebrow rising slightly at the lack of cleavage on show.

Donna smiles and smooths down her black dress, pulling at the high neckline a little in discomfort. Her eyes are rimmed with red, her pale cheeks a little blotchy. “Don't look at me like that, Harvey. Low cut outfits are really not the sort of thing you wear to a funeral.”

Harvey nods, his fingers sliding along the strip of fabric still clutched in his hands. He reaches up and places it around his neck, doing up the top button of his shirt and flipping up the collar. With well practiced moves, he makes quick twists and turns, pulling the collar back down once he is finished.

Donna smiles again and reaches out, two fingers slipping down the front of his chest. “It's nice,” she says, her eyes starting to look a little too bright and her voice soft and thick. “He would've liked it.”

Harvey smiles crookedly and looks down at his small token of remembrance; a cheap, polyester blend, pale blue, skinny tie.

 

* * *

 

 

Ray's foot slammed down on the brakes, jolting Harvey back into consciousness with a gasp. He raised his head from where it had slipped down to rest on Mike's hand, his eyes darting around the now far too familiar hospital room. He took in the flower arrangements scattered around the surfaces, the small sofa with its cushions uneven from where Gerald or Harold or whatever his name was had slept the night before. Finally he took in the monitor, watched the steady blips and listened to the whirring and hissing of the machinery, taking a moment to reassure himself that this was reality. And then he looked at Mike, still lying deathly still as he had been for the past week.

The dream still fresh in his mind, Harvey stared at Mike; his dark blond eyelashes sweeping across his pale cheek bones, the smattering of golden freckles across the bridge of his nose. He looked so young like this, so vulnerable, it was hard to reconcile this image in front of him with the Mike who would pace up and down the length of his office, brow drawn down in a frown as he tried to find the answer to a problem inside that ridiculously clever mind of his. The nurses had done their best to shave around the breathing tube during their time here, but there were a few hairs below his chin, the same dark blond as his eyebrows. His non-styled hair fell across his forehead, and for the first time since they had arrived at the hospital, Harvey gave in to the urge to sweep it back, his fingers brushing the fine blond hair over and over again. The dream had felt so real.

Harvey leaned forward until his forehead touched Mike's shoulder, one hand sliding down to tangle his fingers with Mike's, the other side softly smoothing his hair over his ear.

“Please wake up, Mike,” he whispered, the pleading words unfamiliar on his tongue. “Please. Just wake up.”

 

* * *

 

 

The thing to understand about Mike Ross is that, for all the hardship that his life has thrown his way, he still feels as though he's coasted through most of it. School was easy, and not just because of the eidetic memory, although it certainly didn't hurt. But it also had a lot to do with his open face and honest smile, complete with clear wide blue eyes under the shaggy blond hair. Grown ups responded to him, and he learned quickly how to arrange his features in just the right way to get exactly what he wanted. The lunch lady would always give him extra fries on a Friday and keep back a bowl of his favourite pudding just for him. His art teacher let him play with the charcoal when everyone else was using pencils, and gave him extra sheets of paper. His math teacher would let him read a book at the back of the class, because she knew he could already do the sums in his head.

Even after his parents died, and Mike lost a lot of the open trust he used to bestow on everyone, he was still naïve and innocent in a way that drew people towards him, of both the good and bad kind. In his sophomore year at high school, Mike's school counsellor tried to tell him that being such good friends with Trevor Evans wasn't a good idea. But Trevor had been around since before his parents died, and Mike would trust his best friend over some woman he hardly knew every time. Mike had just smiled good-naturedly and privately rolled his eyes, because the woman couldn't possibly know anything about his relationship with Trevor. He knew all the ways in which Trevor was bad news, like the ditching school and hanging out at the park instead of doing his homework, the occasional joint he scored from the older kids who hung out behind the bleachers. But there was also good sides to Trevor, like the way he would think up something fun for them both to do on the anniversary of Mike's parents' deaths to keep him occupied, and the way he would hold Mike as he cried himself to sleep because he missed them so much he physically ached. So yeah, Trevor wasn't exactly perfect, but Mike didn't need to spend hours on his homework to get it right, and it didn't take him long to catch up on anything he missed while ditching school, so nothing bad that Trevor did could ever outweigh the good for Mike. Trevor might be an ass sometimes, but he loved Mike and would never do anything that might actually hurt him.

When Mike got caught cheating at college, the Dean had tried to get him to say that it had been Trevor's idea. Mike knew that the old guy was trying to give him an out; the poor kid with the perfect GPA that might one day put his college on the map. But he couldn't do it, even though it had been the truth. Trevor's idea might have backfired spectacularly but it wasn't like he meant for Mike to get caught. He was looking out for him, that was all, and it was just bad luck that had led to him getting caught.

Life after college came easy to Mike, and if a small part of him knew that he took the easy routes from then on to avoid failing again, he didn't acknowledge it. If he hid his brilliant mind behind a goofy smile, protecting himself from making anymore huge mistakes, he didn’t dwell on it. He did what he had to do to survive, becoming a waiter at a diner close to where his grandmother lived, then a barista at a coffee shop. He bought a bike and became a bike messenger, because he loved the feel of the wind in his hair as he sped past traffic jams on the early morning streets. And if he got more heavily into smoking pot, then it didn't matter, and he didn't judge Trevor for deciding to sell the stuff, because like him, his best friend was just doing what he needed to do to survive.

And yet, there was a part of Mike that knew he was coasting through life, and no matter how many times he told himself that he'd been knocked into a different life by a stroke of bad luck, a small part of him knew that he hadn't done much to try and get it back. And no matter how many times he wished to himself that his life could be different, no matter how many tests he took for other people while silently wishing it was his own name he was writing down, there was a small part of him that knew he could do more if he tried.

And it was that same small part that had spoken up for him, the day he'd stood in front of Harvey Specter, broken briefcase dangling from his hand and bags of weed strewn around his feet. He'd taken one look at Harvey, standing there with his hair slicked back and his incredibly smart suit, and Mike had felt a sudden, burning need to have _that_. And so it was that small part of him, the part that burned with shame at how he hadn't done more to get his life back on track, that spoke for him, spilling his life and laying him bare to the suave man in front of him.

Later, he blamed it on the adrenaline of running from the cops and the simmering anger at Trevor for getting him into another mess, as to why he had begged Harvey for a chance even while the bigger part of him screamed at him to stop, because what if nothing came of it? Or worse, what if he tried, and failed again? But the rush of exhilaration didn't die down, and Mike found himself excited to get up in the mornings in a way he never had before.

Doubt and the sheer terror of failing crept back in occasionally, but Mike soon found that he was becoming addicted to his new life in a way that he had never felt for anything before. For the first time, life was a challenge for Mike; for all the reading and instant memorising that he could do, it didn't prepare him nearly enough for the challenges that working with Harvey brought to him. And he enjoyed it; the act of having to actually work to learn something giving him a thrill like he had never before experienced. That fear of failure turned into a burning desire to succeed, his doubts turned into a need to make Harvey proud.

And so that was why the idea that someone might come along and take Harvey away from him terrified him so very much.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was bright and hot after the relatively cool interior of the marble lined courthouse. The sounds of traffic and people washed over him as Harvey opened the heavy wooden doors, and as he stopped to let himself adjust to the light, Mike used the opportunity to slip in front of him.

“Tell you what, if I get to the cart before you, you have to have one with all the trimmings.” Mike could tell by the way he looked at Mike's hotdogs that Harvey secretly wanted all the extras. Especially the mustard; he always got an extra pinch of want around the eyes as the mustard was squeezed onto Mike's 'dog.

“I'm your boss, not your nanny. Go find some other kids to play with. After we win.”

“I've seen the way you eye up my mustard. I think you secretly want it, but just don't want to risk getting anything on your snazzy suit.”

Mike couldn't stop his gaze from sweeping across all the people milling about on the pavement. He was looking for something, but he couldn't remember what.

He had just reached the bottom step when he saw it; a man standing by the side of a dark car parked next to the sidewalk. The man's hand was outstretched, pointing straight at them, and as the sun glinted off the gun in his hands, Mike knew what he had to do. He took a stumbling step to the right, planting himself clumsily in front of Harvey just as the muzzle flashed.

He felt something punch his chest and he let out a surprised gasp. His shoulder knocked back into Harvey, and he turned around to apologise. “Sorry,” he managed to whisper, but then his legs gave out from underneath him and he slid to the steps in a crumpled heap.

Time and sound seemed to slow down around him as he tried to make sense of what was happening. His chest felt like a lead weight was pressing down on him; he felt like he was trying to breathe underwater. Distantly, he heard someone scream and car doors slamming, but much louder was the sound of someone next to him. Harvey was mumbling words that made no sense over and over again, and Mike felt a brief spasm of shock as he realised that Harvey was actually kneeling down on the steps next to him.

Mike groaned as he felt yet more pressure on his chest, and he tried to lift his head so that he could hear what Harvey was saying to him. His hand found the lapels of Harvey's suit jacket and he grabbed on tight, intending to pull himself up so that he could go and do whatever Harvey needed him to do but only managing to pull Harvey closer to him instead.

“I'm sorry, God, I'm so sorry...”

The sun glinted off Harvey's dark blond hair, and Mike had a surreal moment where he could swear he saw a halo. He couldn't understand what Harvey was apologising for, and even the idea of Harvey saying sorry for anything made Mike's head spin. He was Harvey Specter; he didn't make mistakes. So he said the only thing he could think of in the moment.

“It's not your fault.”

He tried to keep his eyes open, wanting to make sure that Harvey had heard him, but the pressure on his chest was too much. Sight and sound disappeared as the darkness came and took him away.

“Please wake up, Mike. Please. Just wake up.”

 

* * *

 

 

Harvey stayed right there, forehead pressed to Mike's shoulder, fingers linked with his for a long while, trying to breathe through the panic his dream had left him with. It happened every time he closed his eyes; he would see it happen all over again, the way the sparkle normally so prevalent in Mike's crystal blue eyes would dim slowly, leaching out of him as the blood pooled beneath them both. His subconscious had played out several versions of the future for him too, not content with merely torturing him with images of the event. The worst had happened in the early hours of Thursday morning; exhausted from spending hours waiting for Mike to come around and going home under the crushing weight of disappointment when it hadn't happened, Harvey had finally managed to fall asleep on the sofa in his living room. In his dreams, Mike had woken up, gotten better, and then promptly left both Harvey and the firm behind him, furious that Harvey had let this happen. The idea of Mike hating him made Harvey's chest tighten painfully.

His fingers twitched, numb from staying in the same position for too long, so Harvey sat up slowly, letting the backs of his fingers trail down Mike's cheek as he pulled away. He started to untangle his fingers, watching carefully to make sure he didn't pull on any of the wires attached to Mike's skin. His fingers twitched again and he stopped moving, hardly daring to breathe. He stared down at their hands intently, his breath escaping his lips in a sharp puff of air as he watched Mike's fingers squeeze his own.

He whipped back around to look at Mike's face. He was awake, eyes glazed over as he looked unseeingly at the ceiling.

“Mike?” Harvey's voice was cracked and raw, and he gripped Mike's hand harder as he reached for the call button. “Can you hear me? Mike? Get Dr Warren, now,” he said to whoever had opened the door behind him, not willing to take his eyes from Mike for a second. He leaned forward and stroked Mike's hair again. “It's okay, Mike, you're okay.”

The door behind him swung open once more, and Dr Warren walked over to the other side of the bed, checking the monitor as she grabbed the chart. She watched the blips move along the screen for a moment, and then turned to look down at Mike, a small smile on her face.

“This is good news, yes?” Harvey asked, still not looking away from Mike's face, watching the way his eyelids fluttered.

“Yes, opening his eyes voluntarily is a very good sign.”

“He also moved his fingers,” Harvey told her, the need for her to tell him that everything would be fine churning in his stomach.

“I'm going to need to run a few quick tests to make sure,” Dr Warren replied, “but I'm reasonably certain that this means he's starting to wake up.”

She called for a nurse and Harvey reluctantly moved away from the bed, leaning against the wall as they worked. He watched as the doctor shone a light in Mike's eyes, his heart dropping for a moment as they slid shut again almost immediately afterwards. He winced as the nurse pulled up the blankets and stuck a pin in the arch of Mike's foot, standing straighter as he noticed Mike's knee jerk up in response. He held his breath as Dr Warren unclipped the respirator, slumping back down as he watched her reattach it quickly.

“He's doing great,” she finally said to him, as the nurse covered Mike up again and left the room.

“But he's still not breathing on his own.” Harvey moved back to his place by the bed, taking Mike's hand in his and swallowing down the dart of disappointment when he didn't squeeze back.

“There was some distinct gurgling when I removed the respirator. He's getting there.” Dr Warren smiled brightly at him as she replaced the chart at the end of the bed. “It takes some time for coma patients to come around fully, it's not like waking up after a deep sleep.” She put her hand on his arm as she explained. “Think of the body as a computer. After rebooting, it takes awhile for it all to warm up. We just have to wait for the rest to come back online.”

Harvey nodded, understanding. “He's going to be okay then?” He watched her smile dim slightly, and he tried not to panic.

“That's a waiting game, unfortunately. There might be some memory loss, possibly some loss of movement, but we won't know anything until he's fully awake.” She rubbed his arm comfortingly. “Try not to worry about that until the time comes, it's still going to take a while before Mr Ross is awake enough for us to know anything for sure, okay?”

Harvey thanked her and watched her leave, before sitting down again at Mike's side. He pulled out a crossword and set it by Mike's side, calling out the questions as he went through them, his fingers still curled around Mike's.

 

* * *

 

 

Waking up out of a coma isn't like how it happens in the movies. There's no fluttering eyelashes, followed by a sleepy “where am I?” The first thing that registers is the cold; bone-deep chilling cold in the fingers and toes from the lack of movement. Then the pain hits, slow at first, then crashing over every muscle like a tidal wave. Opening your eyes is hard; the lids feel like they're made of concrete and the light threatens to burn out your retinas. The pain is so intense that your brains shuts off again quickly, sucking you back down into the comforting darkness.

The second time Mike came back to the surface, he panicked, hard. Something was stuck down his throat, taped around his mouth and he couldn't breathe. He choked around the plastic, hands flapping uselessly against his sides as he tried to lift them so that he could rip out whatever it was that was suffocating him. Warm hands grabbed his, and a familiar voice said words he couldn't understand. He felt fingers pulling at the tape across his mouth, and then suddenly a burning sensation ripped through his lungs and up his throat. He tried to cry out, but all that came out was a wheezy gasp. His entire chest felt like it was on fire and his brain throbbed against his skull. Ice flooded through his veins and before he knew what was happening, the darkness came to collect him again, and he went willingly.

The third time Mike tried to wake up, he actually managed to open his eyes. His head was still throbbing, but it was manageable, and although his chest still felt like someone had poured molten lava down his throat, he no longer felt like he was suffocating. He blinked and tried to focus, but everything was blurred and things kept shifting around like he was on a particularly intense high, so he gave up. He felt warmth in his left hand, and he managed to flop his head to the side to see what it was. A blurry shape was next to him, and Mike could just make out a vaguely human shape reaching out to him, fingers curled around his own.

He opened his mouth, intending to say _what the fuck happened_ but what came out instead was “waaffaaaccaaa?”

The person next to him (he assumed it was a person, but it really could have been an ape for all that Mike could see) squeezed his hand and murmured something unintelligible (lending weight to the whole 'ape' theory, to be honest). Something blue swept across his blurred vision and Mike felt a small pinch in his arm. Ice spread over his body from the point and Mike fell gratefully back into oblivion.

The next time Mike woke up, he knew instantly that this time was for real. His head felt clearer even before he opened his eyes, and when he tried to move his head he found he could do it without much trouble. He slowly opened his eyes, getting used to the glare of the lights above him, and found to his relief that the ceiling above him was only slightly blurry.

“Mike?”

Mike turned his head into the sound, his gaze catching on the hand wrapped around his fingers. He swallowed a few times, wanting to be able to speak properly before he tried again. “Harvey.” His voice came out scratchy and hoarse, quieter than he meant it to be. He watched as Harvey leaned over and pressed a button on the side of the bed. “You look like shit.”

Harvey huffed out a breath, his lips quirking up in one of those rare genuine smiles that Mike wishes he could reach out and touch, just to reassure himself that it's real. A door opened and a woman in blue scrubs came to a stop at the end of his bed, and Mike turned to face her. His eyelids were already threatening to droop, but he pushed back against them, intent on staying awake for longer than a few seconds.

“Mr Ross, how do you feel?” The woman asked, and Mike tried to laugh but only managed a soft wheezing sound.

“Peachy, with a side of keen,” he managed, his gaze flicking over to Harvey to see if he caught the reference.

He had. “Quotes from TV shows are cheating, Rookie,” he said, but his mouth pinched together as though he was trying not to smile.

Mike blinked slowly. “Not if you recognise them.”

The woman at the end of the bed laughed a little, and Mike turned his attention back to her. “I need to ask you a few questions, Mr Ross, if you're feeling up to it?”

“Call me Mike.”

She smiled and looked down at a folder in her hands. “Can you tell me where you are?”

Mike looked around. “Um, I'm going to guess, a hospital? And you're a doctor?”

“Yes, I'm Dr Warren. Can you remember why you're here? What happened?”

Mike let out a laugh at that; he could remember what he had for breakfast when he was five. He opened his mouth to tell her... but nothing came out. A sharp pain lodged in his chest and he started finding it hard to breathe; why couldn't he remember? He remembered _everything_. Warm fingers squeezed his again, and he looked down to where Harvey's hand gripped him, focussing on the manicured nails as he willed his heart to slow down.

“That's okay, Mike, it happens sometimes. Don't worry about it.” Dr Warren's voice floated over him but Mike wasn't really paying attention; he was too busy watching as Harvey's thumb rubbed small soothing circles into the back of his hand. Harvey knew how much not being able to remember something would worry him. “Let's start with something else. Where do you work?”

“Pearson Hardman,” Mike said automatically, and he let out a relieved breath. He knew his name, he knew where he worked, and he knew Harvey; he was going to be fine. He looked at Dr Warren. “What happened? How long have I been here?”

Dr Warren looked at him for a long moment, before her eyes wandered over to the machine that was beeping quietly next to him. “There was an... incident,” she said finally. “You've been in a coma for the past seven days.”

 _Seven days?_ Mike's brain wasn't ready to deal with that, so he clung on to the first part of the sentence like a life raft. “An incident? What kind of incident?”

“You were shot, outside the courthouse.”

Mike expected the doctor to answer him, but instead it was Harvey. He looked down at himself, noticing for the first time the bandages covering his chest. His eyes widened as he turned to look at Harvey, but Harvey was too busy looking at the floor to notice.

“Harvey?”

Slowly, reluctantly, Harvey lifted his head to look at Mike, his face carefully blank and devoid of any expression. But Mike knew Harvey, and he could tell by the slight pinch around his eyes that he was feeling guilty. He felt Harvey's hand slipping away from his, and he tightened his grip instinctively. Harvey's eyebrows rose, and Mike purposefully squeezed his fingers. Harvey nodded once, and Mike turned back to the doctor.

“So, what now?”

“Now Mike, you rest. Your body has a lot of healing to do. I'll be back in to check on you later.” Dr Warren scribbled something on her chart and gave them both a smile, then turned and left the room.

Mike wanted to talk to Harvey, to find out the exact details of what happened, but his eyes were so heavy and his head was starting to spin. He opened his mouth to speak, but a yawn slipped out instead, and Mike succumbed to sleep again, his fingers still holding on tightly to Harvey's.

 

* * *

 

 

Trying to move after being shot in the chest is just the worst thing ever. It's not just breathing that's hard, or trying to move your upper body. _Everything_ hurts, from the tips of your fingers all the way down to your toes. The muscles that you use everyday without even knowing it, just to stand up, or grab a drink, or lift a spoon to your mouth; they've all been ripped apart and bruised black and blue.

Mike decided, after his third attempt to get out of bed and failing spectacularly, that the surgery was actually responsible for most of his pain. Sure, two of his ribs had splintered and had a bullet crushed into them, but that only hurt when he twisted a certain way. It was the four inch wound down his chest and the sliced open muscle beneath that was giving him the most trouble.

Of course, it didn't help that he'd been lying on his back for two weeks without moving; his limbs had seized up and his brain had gotten used to the horizontal position and it really liked to complain about being forced upright, mainly in the form of debilitating dizziness and a pounding pressure against his skull.

But Mike was insistent that his body start to follow his own orders again, because he wanted out of hospital. Like, a week ago. He hated hospitals, hated everything about them; the way they smelled, the way they sounded, the sickly coloured paint on the walls that they all seem to like so much, the crackly plastic beneath his sheets. He hated the dimmed lights at night and the constant fifteen minute observations that meant he couldn't sleep properly. He hated the sympathetic looks of the nurses, doctors and orderlies, and the patronising pats on his arm when he managed to lift a spoon of jell-o to his lips. He hated having to lie there and watch the clock tick round to visiting hours, just so he would have something to do, something to occupy his thoughts so he wouldn't think about what he hated most of all; the fact that sometimes people come into hospitals and they don't come out.

Dr Warren had assured him that as soon as he could move around on his own they would remove all of the various tubes attached to him, so Mike's goal of the day was to reach the bathroom all by himself. He didn't want to be in this place that smelled like death; he wanted to go home. He slowly pushed himself to the edge of the bed, grunting with frustration at how hard it was to get his legs to cooperate. The tube socks on his legs made it hard for him to keep his balance once he got his feet to the ground, but he leaned against the bed rail until he figured it out. The floor was cold through the hole over the balls of his feet, and he concentrated on that; if he could feel the cold, then he wasn't likely to slip. He slowly stood upright and forced his hands to unclench from their death grip on the sheets behind him.

Mike reached out carefully and grabbed hold of the IV stand, leaning on it as he took his first steps in over two weeks. His knees shook and his head pounded, but he scowled and pushed on. A few more steps, and he placed his hand on the door of the bathroom, slapping it a few times to celebrate reaching his goal.

“What do you think you are doing?”

Mike jumped and he grabbed onto the stand with both hands to keep from falling over. Hands appeared around his upper arms, long nails digging in painfully.

“Donna? What are you doing here?”

“Harvey's in court, so he asked me to come keep an eye on you.” Donna guided him back over to the bed, pushing at his shoulders and forcing him to sit down. “He said you would probably be doing something stupid. Why are you out of bed?”

“Because beds are boring. Well, they are when you're the only one in them.” Mike frowned down at his stupid hospital gown.

Donna walked back over to the door and picked up a bag she had dropped when she'd come in. “I brought you some things from your apartment.” She pulled out a pair of sweatpants and his favourite blue t-shirt.

“How did you know where I keep my spare key?” Mike asked, even as he stroked his clothes lovingly. He looked at Donna and nodded at her raised eyebrow. “Right, of course. You're Donna, you know everything.”

Donna continued pulling things out of the bag, placing them on the bed next to Mike. “There's some more shirts, and I brought your shaving kit. You look like you finally hit puberty while you were sleeping.”

Mike looked down at them all. “You picked these out?”

Donna scoffed. “No. This was Harvey. He was going to bring them in himself, but court started running late.” She reached into her handbag. “These, are from me. You're welcome.”

Mike stared down at the files in his hands; all the cases Harvey was going to be working on over the next few weeks. He grinned. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Actually yes. Those drugs they've had you on were pretty strong. They should use them on criminals to get them to confess their sins; some of yours were very interesting.”

Mike blushed and was saved from having to answer by Dr Warren sweeping into the room.

“Afternoon Mike, Donna.” She picked up Mike's chart and flipped through it, her gaze flicking up to where Mike was perched against the edge of the bed. “Did you manage to move around at all today?”

“See? I wasn't doing anything stupid. I was just following doctor's orders.” Mike resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Donna, but only barely. The woman had lightning reflexes; she'd probably just rip it out of his mouth. He turned to Dr Warren. “I walked to the bathroom and back.” he grinned.

“Excellent! You're making really good progress.” She made a few notes in the chart and moved closer to Mike. “I think we can start removing some of these wires now.”

Mike tried not to blush. “Um, could we wait until after Donna has left?” There were tubes in certain areas of his body that he was not at all interested in letting Donna see, no matter what he might have said while high on pain meds.

Dr Warren laughed, and reached to remove the banana bag from his left hand. “I'm going to leave the canula in for a while longer, just in case you have trouble taking in fluids orally, but if you're okay when I come back on shift later, we'll remove those too.” She screwed a cap onto the end of the needle in the back of his hand, and Mike winced at the slight pressure. “I actually have good news for you, Mike.” She winked at him. “If you keep responding as well as you have, I think you might be able to go home in a couple of days. How does that sound?”

Mike stared up at her for a moment, then did a slow fist pump, taking care not to dislodge the needle. “That sounds like the best thing ever, Doc. I can't wait to get back home.”

Dr Warren smiled as she disconnected the canula in his other hand, removing the pain med drip and capping off the needle. “As soon as you can take everything by mouth instead of intravenously, being out of hospital will probably help your recovery go smoother. As long as you have someone around to take care of you for the next few weeks, you should be back to normal in no time.”

Mike's heart sunk at her words. “Is that... a requirement? Having someone there, I mean.” He bit his lip, hoping she would say no. “I don't exactly have...”

“That won't be a problem,” Donna interrupted, smoothing out her dress as she sat down on the couch.

“It won't?” Mike looked at her in confusion, wondering if she was just covering for him.

“Mike, you can't be without care,” Dr Warren said, her expression understanding but firm. “If there really is nobody who can be there for you for most of the day, and night, then I won't be able to authorise your leaving.”

“Like I said, that won't be a problem.” Donna smiled at the doctor. “It's already been arranged. Harvey is going to work from home until Mike's okay to be left on his own, and when he needs to be in court, I'll take over. Mike's going to be staying with Harvey until he's on his feet again.” Donna turned her shrewd gaze on Mike, and Mike felt his face heat up at what he saw in her eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Dr Warren got there first. “Excellent! Okay then Mike, you keep working on moving those muscles, and you'll be all set to leave the day after tomorrow.” She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ears, yawning slightly. “I'll be back in a few hours to see how you're doing without the IVs, okay? I'm off to get some well deserved sleep.” She walked towards the door, turning back as she opened it. “Oh, and I'll get one of the nurses to come and remove your... other tubes once visiting hours are over.” She gave a little wave and walked off down the corridor, leaving Mike sitting there with a very red face and a she-devil watching him with a smirk on her face.

So, Mike was going to have to move in with Harvey for a while. This was going to be... awkward.

 

* * *

 

 

Yep, this was awkward. So very very awkward.

Mike sat in the corner of Harvey's painfully expensive sofa, an afghan blanket wrapped around him from waist to toe, cushions surrounding him on all sides like a fort. Harvey had placed a side table so close that Mike barely had to move his arm to get to his very full glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. His left hand still gripped the tv remote that Harvey had thrust into it an hour ago, and his shoulders were draped in yet another afghan blanket. Mike felt like a burrito; an uncomfortable, sore, very tired burrito. He sighed and let his head flop back onto the bouncy cushion behind him. And he'd thought the ride here had been uncomfortable.

Dr Warren had come in on her day off to see him out, informing him that she had become quite attached to him while he'd been sleeping. “You're gorgeous when you're asleep, did anyone ever tell you that?” She'd winked at him, and he'd grinned. She reminded him a little of his Grammy.

“I'll be sure to tell that to the very next person who'll get that privilege.”

“Well, I would say, why don't you tell him now,” she'd smiled, nodding to Harvey as he walked into the room and dropped her voice to a whisper, “but I have a feeling he already knows.”

“Knows what?” Harvey said, by way of greeting. His eyes had looked over Mike sitting in the wheelchair, before flicking quickly away and around the rest of the room. Mike suppressed a sigh; Harvey had had trouble keeping eye contact with him this last week, and Mike wished he knew why.

“How fantastic I am at being your associate.” Mike shot a warning glare at Dr Warren, but the effect was ruined slightly by his reddening cheeks.

“Well you do tell me often enough.”

“Harvey, we need to go over Mike's care, before I can sign off on his release.” Dr Warren sat down on the couch and beckoned Harvey over. She gave him a list of dietary requirements and routines and started going over them, while Mike rolled his eyes and tried not to fidget too much. He didn't last too long though before he had to interrupt.

“It's okay, Doc, we get it, can I leave now? I have my shoes on and everything.” He waggled his sneaker at her and smiled his most charming smile.

Her response was a slight frown. “This is important, Mike. Some of these medications are very volatile, and Harvey needs to know what to do.” She turned back to Harvey. “Now, one of the most important things is that you have to keep him warm, because the coma will have affected his immune system temporarily.”

“He has to _keep me warm_? What am I, a baby?”

“In some ways, yes,” Dr Warren looked at him briefly. “You're going to be sleeping a lot, and you'll need to eat little and often. Not unlike a newborn, actually.”

Harvey rolled his eyes as he nodded and gathered all the sheets of paper the doctor handed to him into one pile. Dr Warren then handed him a bag, opening it on his lap and pointing inside. “In here is everything you should need to change his dressings, which should be done every day, and his medications. I've put a note on one of the pages to say how much and when.”

“Great!” Mike interrupted, pushing the foot stool on the wheelchair out of the way and trying to stand up. “We can go now, right?”

“You're not walking anywhere.” Harvey got up from the sofa and pushed down on Mike's shoulder, forcing him back into the chair. He hung the bag around the handles as Dr Warren pushed the foot plate back into place beneath him.

“What? Why?” Mike frowned up at the doctor, who just smiled sunnily at him. “I can walk now, I don't need this.”

“Yes you do.” Harvey unhooked the brake and gave the chair an experimental push. “You can get out of the chair once we arrive at the car, and not before.”

“Come on, Doc,” Mike pleaded with her. “This really isn't necessary, is it?”

“Sorry, Mike, hospital policy.” She patted his arm. “I'll see you in a few days for your follow up, okay?” She flashed them both a smile and left the room. Harvey pushed the chair through the door and down the hallway, as Mike hunched down in his seat and tried to will the burning in his cheeks to fade.

The town car was waiting for them right outside the entrance, and Ray jumped out of the driver's seat as soon as he spotted them both.

“Hey, Ray.” Mike tried not to be embarrassed as both Ray and Harvey helped him to his feet and shuffled him into the back of the car. “How's the family?”

“Much better now they know you're out of hospital and on your way home,” Ray grinned at him happily and placed his bag in the trunk. “The wife was quite worried about you, you know.”

Mike smiled. “Tell her I said thank you for the flowers. They were lovely.”

Ray went round to the other side of the car to let Harvey in, and Mike suffered the further humiliation of Harvey leaning over him to do up his seat belt for him.

“I can do it, you don't have to-”

“The doctor said you should keep your upper body as still as possible. Pulling your stitches just to do up a seat belt seems a little irresponsible, don't you think?”

Harvey leaned back in his own seat as the car pulled away from the curb, managing to not make eye contact with him without it seeming obvious. Mike felt a little disconcerted; he wondered if Harvey was mad at him. Maybe the idea of having to take care of a recuperating associate instead of winning in court had put him in a bad mood. Maybe it was just the thought of having Mike in his home for the next few weeks that had Harvey staring out the window so pensively. The silence dragged out, for once not even the sounds of smooth jazz in the background that they could pretend they were listening to.

Eventually, Mike couldn't take it anymore and he turned to Harvey, wincing at the burn in his side as he moved. “Harvey, you know... I'd be fine in my own apartment, you don't need to-” He stopped as Harvey finally turned his head to look at him.

“You can either stay with me until you're okay on your own, or I can have Ray drive you straight back to the hospital. Your choice.”

Harvey turned away again, and Mike stared at his profile. He couldn't quite work out where he was coming from; Harvey had this closed expression on his face, one that Mike had seen many times during client meetings and court proceedings, but it had never been directed towards him before. He knew that Harvey closed himself off whenever he had an emotion he didn't want others around him to read, but he couldn't work out what it was that Harvey was trying to hide from him. He couldn't help feeling a little... hurt, actually.

The car stopped and Mike was pulled out of his thoughts as his car door opened, Ray's smiling face appearing next to him. Harvey reached over again and unhooked his seat belt, and Ray helped him out of the car. It took him so long to maneuver himself and get his legs out of the car that by the time he was ready to try standing up, Harvey had made his way round to his side of the car. His strong hands gripped Mike's upper arms and pulled him upright. Between the two of them, Harvey and Ray helped Mike hobble over to the front doors, the doorman holding them open for them. Ray offered to help Mike all the way up to Harvey's apartment, but Mike waved him away; he already felt embarrassed enough as it was, he didn't need anymore heaped on top.

He tried to stand as upright as he could as the elevator took them straight up into Harvey's apartment, pulling away slightly from Harvey as he tried to keep him steady. Harvey still wasn't looking at him or even talking to him any more than he absolutely had to, and this sudden but necessary boundary-crossing touching left Mike feeling conflicting emotions that he just didn't know how to deal with right then.

The elevator doors slid open and Mike took in Harvey's apartment spread out before him. He hadn't been further than the lobby and the kitchen before, and looking around Mike realised that he had always imagined the space as being something like a stretched version of Harvey's office. Structurally, he hadn't been all that far off; the living room was open plan, turning most of the space in front of him into one huge room, the floor to ceiling windows giving an expansive view of the city. But the tone of the room was completely different to Mike. In place of the muted greys and cool wooden furniture there was soft cream carpet, warm mahogany furniture and a deep, plush leather couch that took up a large part of the space. The room screamed _comfort_ rather than _professional_ , which was a description Mike never thought he'd associate with something so intrinsically linked with Harvey. He supposed it made sense though; this was the one place where Harvey didn't have to pretend to be anything else.

Mike tried to take a step forward on his own, but he wobbled dangerously, his vision blurring slightly at the edges. He felt hands grab him around his waist, fingers splaying across his stomach. Mike would have really loved nothing better in that moment than to make it into the apartment under his own steam, but he just couldn't. He was tired out from the sudden fresh air and excitement of finally leaving the hospital, and he was in too much pain from all the moving. So he let himself lean back into Harvey and let him guide him over to the couch, willing his recovery to go as quickly as possible so that he could get out of Harvey's hair.

He sank down gratefully onto the sofa with a small groan, wincing slightly as his back settled into the cushions. There was a moment of intense embarrassment as he realised that Harvey still had a hold of him, letting him twist in his grip so that Harvey was leaning over him, hands still on his waist.

Harvey cleared his throat and took a step back. “I'll go get you a blanket.”

And then he was off, walking back and forth between the spare bedroom and the living room, first with one blanket and then another, then a pillow for his head and another for his side. He placed the tv remote in Mike's hand and then practically ran to the kitchen, reappearing moments later with a glass of juice and a high side table. He placed the table right next to Mike and then tucked the edges of the blanket around him, pulling the second around his shoulders and under his chin. Mike had been glad to find he still had the use of his hands by the time Harvey was done. And then he had muttered something about having a few things to do and to call him if he needed anything, then left the room.

Which was how Mike found himself an hour later, starting to sweat underneath all the layers and feeling very awkward indeed.

The meds he had been given before leaving the hospital were beginning to wear off, and Mike was starting to feel the burning sensation in his chest again. He knew it was time for another dose, but he couldn't quite bring himself to call for Harvey. Ever since he had woken up in that hospital bed, Harvey sitting next to him and gripping his hand, their relationship had acquired a sudden tension that had never been there before. Mike had reveled in the feeling of Harvey's fingers squeezing his the first few times he had slid in and out of consciousness, and more than a few times he had felt gentle tugs on his hair and pressure down his arm as Harvey caressed him back awake. For those first few days after he had woken up, Harvey had been there every time he opened his eyes, his hand the one thing that assured Mike he wouldn't drown in the darkness as he went back under. But once his body had adjusted and he started to finally be awake more than he was asleep, Harvey had seemed to withdraw from Mike. Visiting hours had been filled with Donna or Rachel or Harold, once even Jessica, who had brought in a very reluctant Louis. Harvey was still there, but always in the background, leaning against the far wall, face blank and unreadable.

At first Mike had felt bereft, wanting that closeness he had felt between them when he first woke up to come back, but soon even that desire left him, replaced instead with a need to just have back their easy banter and comfortable silences. They hadn't spent any time alone together since those first few days after Mike had woken up, and Mike suspected that being shut up together in Harvey's apartment for the foreseeable future wasn't going to help get their relationship back to normal. The quicker he could be on his feet and able to look after himself, the better for both of them.

Mike pulled the blanket from around his shoulders and laid it over the back of the sofa. He sat up, slowly letting his feet down to the floor and edging his way carefully off the seat. He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth, setting his fists down to either side of him to help push himself up. A hand clamped down on his shoulder and his chest twinged painfully as he jumped.

“What are you doing?” Harvey pressed his hand down harder, forcing Mike back into the cushions.

I was just going to take some pain killers, they're over there.” Mike gestured at the kitchen counter he could see just through the doorway, the hospital bag resting on top.

“I told you to call me if you needed anything.” Harvey let go of his shoulder and walked into the kitchen, pulling out a couple of pill bottles and shaking out the right amount. Mike didn't know which he missed more: the touch on his shoulder that had him biting his lip, or the easy joke about how puppies can't look after themselves that never came. “Here,” Harvey put the pills in Mike's hand and he swallowed them down, accepting the glass of juice Harvey held out for him.

Harvey stood over him for a moment, before disappearing back into the kitchen. Mike sighed; he'd only been here for just over an hour, and already he didn't know if he could handle it. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cushions and tried to calculate just how long it would take before he snapped from all the uncomfortable tension.

He felt something touch his ankle and his eyes flew open to see Harvey sitting down at the end of the couch, pulling Mike's feet into his lap.

“Since I can't trust you to be left alone, I might as well join you.” Harvey reached over and pulled the remote out of Mike's fist and pointed it at the huge flat screen tv on the opposite wall. He flicked through the channels, coming to a stop on a re-run of some sci-fi show.

They both sat back and stared at the screen, neither of them taking much of it in. Harvey's eyes were glazed slightly as he watched, his mind obviously not on whether or not the group on the tv would be able to get back through the glowing ring. Mike was too busy trying to read Harvey to pay any attention to the show, and as the credits rolled up, Mike realised wryly that this would be the first time ever that he wouldn't be able to recite the dialogue verbatim. There was something on Harvey's mind, and it was obviously something that he felt he couldn't share with Mike. That in itself didn't surprise Mike; there had been times in the past when Harvey had kept things to himself. But it was the way he looked at Mike - or didn't look at him, suddenly – that had Mike feeling raw and wounded. Their conversations were stilted and awkward, the easy banter and secret jokes replaced with uncomfortable silences and aborted touches. It was unsettling, and for the first time since he had met Harvey, Mike felt uncomfortable being so close to him.

Mike hated this sudden new development, and wanted desperately for things between them to go back to how they had been before he'd been hurt, but he had absolutely no idea how to go about making it happen. Being comfortable with Harvey was a constant in Mike's life that he had become to rely upon, ever since their first meeting. Standing there, baggies of pot strewn around his feet and broken suitcase hanging from his hand, Mike had felt a subtle click in his chest as he had looked up to see Harvey looking at him. It had compelled him to desperately try to impress the man standing before him, showing off his eidetic memory that he usually tried to hide, trying to prove to Harvey that he could be just what the man was looking for. Mike hadn't really understood this sudden need to impress a mere stranger; the only person whose thoughts about him he cared for were his Grammy’s. But he’d watched Harvey’s eyebrows rise incredulously as he’d swung the laptop around to show his game of Freecell instead of the internet sites he was supposed to be looking at, and he’d felt something swell inside his chest so much that it almost became painful. It even took him a few moments to realise that what he was feeling was pride. His perfect recall had always kind of dampened any enjoyment he got out of winning debates or arguments; it felt a bit to Mike like the New York Yankees winning against a Little League team. But Harvey was good, so good that Mike had actually had to pause to come up with the right words in order to beat him, instead of it all rolling effortlessly off his tongue while his brain was busy elsewhere. And all of a sudden the world opened up around him, and Mike could see a different life spread out before him, filled with heated debates that wouldn’t bore him within 2 minutes and even the struggle in order to win. The thought excited him, exhilarated him, and his only thought was that if Harvey would just give him this one chance, he would follow this man to the ends of the earth if he’d let him. The idea of being a lawyer, the one thing he’d always wanted to be growing up, even that paled in comparison to the thought of being pushed to his limits intellectually. And it only got better once they started working together and began trading movie quotes and literature references. Mike would find himself staring up at his mottled ceiling, laying on his bed trying to think up movies that he could stump Harvey with the following day instead of sleeping, only for Harvey to meet him quote for quote.

And the thought of losing all that, of not having that easy camaraderie and banter, hurt Mike deep in his chest, far deeper than even a bullet could touch.

 

* * *

 

 

Perhaps it was the way his grandmother raised him, or perhaps it was a side effect of having perfect recall, but Mike had always been a fairly confident person. He didn't care what he looked like or what he wore, and if people found him lacking in some way he would just brush it off and move on without letting it bother him too much. His Grammy had already retired by the time of his parents' accident, which meant that there wasn't a lot of money for things like designer clothes and fashionable sneakers. But Mike had never minded; he was comfortable in a baggy old t-shirt and faded sweatpants, and he had never seen the need in spending a hundred dollars when ten would buy more or less the same thing, just without the name.

It was a thing of constant fascination to him therefore, how much stock Harvey put in his clothes, and how his own personal choice of ties seemed to offend Harvey on a personal level. He genuinely didn't understand the difference between his own skinny ties and those that Harvey wore (except for the price tag, of course). After all, they both went round the neck and tied in a knot, how different could they be? He did understand however, that Harvey really hated Mike's skinny ties, even though he didn't get why. Which was exactly the reason why he insisted on continuing to wear them.

Harvey had tried to force Mike into visiting Rene again after his first time with the tailor, but Mike had refused. He had listened to Rene as he talked about cut lines and fabrics and the argument for double breasted jackets, and then he had taken what he had learned and applied them to his buying off the rack. It seemed to give Harvey heartburn or something every time he saw that Mike was wearing a new suit and it still wasn't bespoke, and Mike took a perverse sense of pleasure in discomfiting his boss. As long as Mike looked presentable for the firm and their clients, there wasn't a thing that Harvey could do about it, but that didn't stop him from getting that pinched expression on his face that said he was seriously contemplating locking Mike in Rene's shop and not releasing him until he was set up for life with suits for every occasion. He could still complain about the skinny ties though, which he did, vociferously.

But the idea of paying that much money for clothing truly baffled Mike. He thought that maybe it was a little bit like the food he likes to eat; he likes burgers and simple foods that are easy and cheap to make because that was what he was brought up with. Likewise, he prefers worn in t-shirts that were soft against his skin compared to the sharp angled collars of shirts because that was all they could afford. Outwardly, he mocks Harvey constantly for his deep and abiding love of matching outfits, and wears the skinny ties to make an endlessly amusing point. But inwardly, there is a part of Mike that thinks he could never look as good as Harvey does in a suit, and so he doesn't even want to try.

Because secretly Mike thinks that suits were invented just so Harvey could come along and show everyone exactly how to wear them and point out just how they’ve been doing it wrong until now. Harvey doesn’t just look _good_ in a suit, he wears them as though this was the only thing he was born to do and being the best closer in all of New York City was just a bonus. The effortless ease with which he saunters down the halls of Pearson Hardman makes everyone else look like they rolled out of bed and came to work in their pajamas. Everything else just seems to mold itself around Harvey; windows shine brighter to fleetingly catch his reflection as he walks past, wooden surfaces gleam as his cufflinks come to rest against them, white walls stand tall behind him, proud to be holding his shadow.

The sun is bright against the whitewashed courthouse, and Mike sees the briefest flash of silver as Harvey lifts a hand to shield his eyes against the glare. But then Mike looks down, and frowns. The knees of Harvey’s pants are darker than the rest of his suit, the pale pinstripes wiped out by something dark and viscous. He opens his mouth to say something, but when he looks back up, all he can do is stare. Dark, deep red is spreading out over the pristine white of Harvey’s shirt, dripping over the cufflinks that shone so brightly just a moment before. There’s a streak of red across his cheekbone, and one perfectly defined red fingerprint standing out on the stiff collar of his shirt. It’s all so incongruous with the perfect image that Harvey usually encompasses that it takes Mike a moment for everything to truly sink in. And then it does, and there’s a pain deep in his chest as the world spins around him and he opens his mouth again to shout.

“Harvey!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Mike, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

Mike flailed against the hand clamped down on his shoulder and tried to roll away. Pain flared up the left side of his body and he groaned aloud, turning his head and whimpering into his pillow.

“Jesus Mike, you’re going to pull your stitches if you keep moving like that.”

The hand on his shoulder applied more pressure, and Mike gave up trying to move away. He opened his eyes and then blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. “Harvey?” Mike squinted in the direction of the vague shadow standing beside him.

“No, it’s Father Christmas.”

Harvey leaned to the side to turn on the bedside lamp, and Mike winced at the sudden brightness. The dream came back to him in a flood and he would have tried to sit up again if it wasn’t for the presence of Harvey’s strong hand against his arm. “Your suit-”

Harvey raised an eyebrow. “You were having a dream about my suit?”

Mike flushed slightly and bit his tongue against the urge to tell Harvey just how often he and his suits made an appearance in his dreams. He felt the damp sheets beneath him from where he had been sweating and wriggled subconsciously, gasping as the movement sent tremors of pain across his chest and down his back.

Harvey glanced at the sleek chrome clock on the wall and nodded to himself. “Your painkillers are wearing off. I’ll go get you some more. Don’t move,” he added sternly, before walking out of the room.

Mike rolled his eyes and reached down, throwing back the sheet twisted around his legs. He took a few deep breaths and then levered himself up into a sitting position, breathing hard through his nose as he lowered his feet to the floor.

“What did I just say?” Harvey glared at him from the doorway, bottle of pills in one hand and a glass in the other.

“You’re the one who keeps forcing juice on me. At some point all that liquid makes itself known.”

Harvey rolled his eyes and held out two pills and the glass of water, watching as Mike swallowed them both back. “Here, let me help you.” He held out his arms as though he was going to lift Mike bodily from the bed.

Mike snorted a laugh and batted his hands away, because nope. He was already embarrassed enough thank you very much. “I can manage going to the bathroom, Harvey. I did it before bed on my own, didn’t I?”

“That was when you were flying high as a kite on pain meds. You probably could have done a triple backflip and not felt a thing.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Harvey looked like he was seriously contemplating dragging Mike to the bathroom by his hair, but he sighed and stepped back, folding his arms as he looked at him. Mike ignored him, concentrating all his efforts into making his legs work properly without moving his upper body. And he failed spectacularly, pitching forward as soon as he was halfway upright with a pained gasp, his forehead colliding heavily against Harvey’s chest as his arms wrapped around his waist, steadying him.

“Fine,” Mike told Harvey’s t shirt, “you can walk me to the bathroom door, but no further.”

Harvey snorted. “Do we need to have the discussion about who’s in charge again?”

The walk to the bathroom was painful and awkward, as Mike tried not to lean on Harvey too much and failing completely. It didn’t help that his arm and chest were warm and solid across his shoulder blades, or that his hair was ruffled adorably on one side.

“I woke you up,” Mike said, realising suddenly. “Was I talking in my sleep?”

Harvey helped him lean against the hallway wall as he opened the spare bathroom door and flicked on the light. “You didn’t wake me.”

Mike knew that was a lie, he could still see traces of pillow creases on Harvey’s left cheek, but he didn’t call him on it. Instead he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, keeping his eyes half closed against the glare of the lights. His legs were still shaky and he had to lean heavily against the tiled wall as he washed his hands. Squinting against the lights, he looked up at his reflection in the high shine mirror over the sink. His usually pale skin had a grey, waxy sheen, highlighting the sallow bruises under his eyes. Despite the fact that he’d done nothing but lie in a hospital bed for the past two weeks, he looked as though he hadn’t slept in a month. His eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, the blue of the irises faded and dulled by all the medication. Basically, he looked like he’d just survived being shot. He lifted a hand and traced the bandage through his t-shirt, watching his cheeks flush in the mirror as he remembered Harvey replacing the dressing earlier that evening. Mike sighed; he really wished he was anywhere but here, in Harvey’s apartment, relying on the man even more than he already does. Well, other than the hospital, that is. If he’d had to stay any longer in that place, he thought he might have murdered somebody.

“Mike? You okay?”

Harvey’s voice came softly through the closed door and Mike sighed. He supposed he would take the awkwardness of his current arrangement over being stuck in hospital, even if the tension did occasionally make him want to hurl himself straight over the balcony.

“I’m fine.”

Mike opened the bathroom door and leaned gratefully on Harvey as he led him back to the spare room. The pain meds were starting to work their magic and he felt looser, suddenly carefree. And also completely wiped out. He let Harvey help him lie back down and pull the sheets back over him, his eyes already closed as he tumbled happily back into oblivion. He thought he felt a hand brush through his hair, but then the darkness came to claim him and he went willingly.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, you awake?”

Mike felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently as he dozed on the couch. He was once again wrapped up like a burrito, the tv remote and yet another glass of orange juice within easy reach. He blinked blearily up as Harvey’s face came into focus.

“Yeah. What’s up?”

Harvey leaned back, a slight frown on his face. “The police are here to talk to you. I can send them away if you’re not feeling up to it?”

Mike shook his head, feeling a slight warmth at the protective note in Harvey’s voice. “No, it’s okay. I can talk to them.” Harvey disappeared around the corner and returned a few moments later, two detectives hot on his heels. Mike smiled up at them and tried to pull himself further into a sitting position, tugging uselessly at the layers of blankets constricting his movements. “Harvey, could you-” Harvey was already there, lifting him up slightly with his hands under Mike’s arms, gently repositioning the blankets so that Mike was more comfortable. Mike had decided this morning that he was going to give up trying - and failing - to do everything himself and take Harvey’s support. The quicker he got better the quicker he could leave, and then hopefully their relationship could go back to how it was, without all the weird and uncomfortable tension.

“Sorry to disturb your rest, Mr Ross -”

Mike waved his hand. “It’s no problem, Detective Hanson. What can I do for you?”

The detective smiled slightly, his eyebrows rising. “You remember me?”

Harvey snorted, and Mike tossed a grin at him. “Of course. I got shot in the chest, not the head.” He frowned inwardly as the little amused smile on Harvey’s face slipped off, his face closing off as he moved away to lean against the wall. It seemed to be his favourite place whenever Mike had company.

Detective Hanson laughed and rubbed a hand across his chin. “Well, you were pretty doped up when we spoke at the hospital, I wasn’t sure. I take it you also remember detective Ryberg?” He indicated the unsmiling man standing behind him, and Mike nodded. Hanson grinned, his brown eyes sparkling. “We’re just here for a quick update, for both yourself and Mr Specter here.” He inclined his head towards Harvey - and was it Mike’s imagination, or was Harvey glaring at the detective? “And we were wondering if you had remembered anything about the incident since we last spoke?”

Mike felt a tingle in the back of his neck, and he shifted uncomfortably. Little things had come back to him from that day - the trial they had been working on, the hotdog that Harvey wanted to eat for lunch, even the name of the CD Ray had played in the town car earlier in the morning - but nothing after stepping out onto the steps of the courthouse. Panic blurred the edges of his vision whenever he thought about that gap in his otherwise completely perfect memory.

“If he had, don’t you think someone would have called you by now?” Harvey said, irritation colouring his voice. Mike felt him lay a hand on his shoulder, and he relaxed into the touch. He hated not being able to remember; to Mike, it felt like he could no longer trust his perfect recall. It terrified him, because his memory was the one thing that made him so useful to Harvey.

“Yes, of course, we were just checking, in case-” Hanson was saying as Mike came back to the conversation, but Harvey cut him off before he could get any further.

“You already have my statement, and those of the bystanders, and Pearson Hardman have given you access to all the files you need, so unless you’ve found the person responsible, then I’m just not sure what it is you’re doing here.”

“Harvey,” Mike admonished, but his heart wasn’t really in it. The word ‘files’ had just reminded him of something. Harvey’s hand tightened on his shoulder briefly, before he let go and stood up straight.

Mike watched as Harvey and detective Hanson glared at each other over him, and he sighed. “Detective, I appreciate the gesture. Perhaps it would be best if from now on we both assume that one of us will contact the other with any new information?”

Hanson broke off his staring match with Harvey and nodded. “That might be wise.” He leaned forward and placed a hand on Mike’s arm. “I’m glad to see you up and about, Mr Ross.” Harvey made a noise in the back of his throat, and the detective glanced up, removing his hand with a slight nod. “Rest assured, we’ll be in touch soon.”

Harvey snorted as he led them back out of the room. When he came back, he had his cell phone in his hand. “Jessica needs me in the office for a couple of hours. I’ll call Donna to come sit with you.”

“I’ll call her,” Mike said quickly, and Harvey raised his eyebrows. He’d obviously been expecting some resistance about needing someone to sit with him. Mike shrugged, trying to look unconcerned.

After a moment, Harvey nodded. “You can tell her I won’t be gone long.” He walked into his bedroom, emerging a few minutes later with his waistcoat and jacket over his suits pants and shirt. “Have you called?”

Mike reached over and picked up the phone, waggling it at Harvey. “Doing it now. Go, I’ll be fine on my own for the ten minutes it will take Donna to get here.”

He waited until he heard the front door open and close behind Harvey, and then waited an extra minute before dialling.

“Donna, Harvey’s coming into the office. He’s on his way now.”

“Let me grab my things, I’ll be there in five.”

“Could you do me a favour on your way?” Mike asked, biting his lip.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like where this is going?”

“There are some files at my place, I forgot about them.”

“You need me to bring them back into work for you?” Donna asked shrewdly; only partners were allowed to remove files from the office without permission.

“Actually, I was wondering if you would bring them here?”

“Mike-”

“They’re all closed cases, Donna, I promise.”

Donna sighed. “Fine. But as soon as you’re on your feet, you’re taking me to buy shoes. On your credit card.”

“Done.”

“See you in a few minutes then.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you going to tell me what these are all about?”

Donna sat primly on one of the armchairs, her legs crossed and a mug of coffee in her hands as she stared Mike down. He tried not to cower under her gaze as he spread the files across his lap, ordering them by date.

“The police have been looking at some of Harvey’s old case files, looking for a suspect.” He said instead of answering her question. Donna hummed an assent, raising one eyebrow pointedly. Mike caved. “I did the same thing, just before...” He trailed off and shook his head. “I found these. Seven cases that I think might be likely to hold a clue as to who was going after Harvey.”

“You do know that Harvey has already given the police a list of people he thinks might hold a grudge against him? And I’m pretty sure none of those names came up.” She pointed at the files. “What makes you think that you know better than him?”

“Because Harvey might read people, but I read situations.” Mike pulled open the first file and began to read, even though all the pages had already been committed to his memory. “Harvey would have told the police about the cases that lost a lot of money going up against him.”

“But you think different?”

Mike looked up at her. “Losing a lot of money makes people mad. But losing some _one_ makes people _desperate_.”

Donna regarded him for a long moment, and then sighed and got up, moving to the couch. “Come on then,” she shoved at his feet until he moved out of the way, grabbing one of the files. “Show me what you’ve got so far.”

Mike grinned over at her. “I love you.”

“Say it with shoes, Mike.”

 

* * *

 

 

After the first week, Mike settled into a sort of routine at Harvey’s apartment. He quickly worked out that if he showered soon after taking his pain meds, Harvey was more inclined to let him do it alone, as long as the door remained unlocked. After his shower, Harvey would replace the bandages that had become wet and leave Mike to get dressed and will away the heat in his cheeks. Then it was time for breakfast, which Harvey still insisted Mike eat on the couch, despite his rapidly increasing ability to move around more freely. Harvey would bring the case files with him into the living area with the tv on low in the background, sending the occasional disapproving glance at the highlighters held in Mike’s fist.

“You’re not supposed to be working, you’re meant to be using this time to rest.”

“It’s my body that needs the rest, Harvey, my mind however is going nuts not having anything to think about. Hand it over.”

They’d sit there for most of the day, with Harvey occasionally calling Donna to arrange something, and Mike sometimes passing out in the middle of reading, coming to later with his feet in Harvey’s lap and the files he had been working on removed to the other side of the couch. It was strangely... domestic. If you didn’t take into account the lack of actual conversation. Mike tried to act as though nothing was different, slinging out quotes and badgering Harvey for fist bumps when he came across something useful. Harvey’s lips would quirk up in that little smile Mike had decided long ago was just for him, but all too quickly it would fall off again, as though Harvey had remembered something unpleasant. And Mike would sigh quietly and turn back to his work, trying to concentrate on anything other than the weird feeling as though his heart was breaking.

Harvey would feed Mike sporadically throughout the day, taking the doctor’s ‘little and often’ rule and running it into overdrive, to the point where Mike would roll his eyes every time Harvey disappeared into the kitchen. He was beginning to feel like a baby bird. After taking his evening meds, Mike would enlist Harvey’s help in getting up off the couch and into the spare room, where he would pass out for the night, despite having slept so much during the day. Mike suspected that at least half of all this sleep was his body using the situation to make up for all the sleepless nights he’d endured since starting work at Pearson Hardman. Dreams still woke him fairly regularly, and Mike was almost pleased to have them. In the middle of the night, handing him pills and water, Harvey was softer, more open, than he was during the day, looking Mike in the eyes instead of flinching away, his fingers lingering on Mike’s arm as he shook him out of whatever nightmare had him yelling out in the middle of the night. More than once, Mike felt fingers on his forehead, brushing back his hair as he drifted back off into sleep, and that good feeling would carry over into the following morning, when Harvey’s closed off attitude would hit him all over again.

  
On the days that Harvey had to go into the office, Donna would turn up with the files Mike had liberated from the file room the week of the incident. Mike found himself actually looking forward to these times; Donna didn’t behave any differently towards him than usual, with the exception of making her own drinks. With Donna taking over Harvey’s watch, Mike was allowed to move around more without sighs and the odd comment following close behind. Harvey’s attention to his physical well being while still being as mentally remote as possible was incongruous to all of Mike’s previous knowledge of his boss, and it unnerved him, making him simultaneously long for their simpler interactions and wonder desperately just what it was that had Harvey distancing himself so much. It wasn’t like they had been particularly close before, and yet in some ways they had. They had their own jokes and sayings, rituals before court and celebrations after their wins (of course there were never any losses to commiserate over). They had their own shorthand language and looks that could only be interpreted by each other - even Donna sometimes struggled to keep up with them. Mike wasn’t delusional enough to think that it meant as much to Harvey as it did to him, but he had thought that Harvey at least viewed him as more than just his associate, maybe even a friend. But now Mike spent a lot of his time wondering if he hadn’t been misinterpreting their relationship all along.

So he relished the days that he spent with Donna, moving freely around the apartment to help himself to food from the vastly overstocked fridge, pacing up and down the length of the living area while Donna scrambled to keep up with him as they brainstormed over the files that she kept in her Handbag of International Mystery. As soon as the opening door heralded Harvey’s return, Donna would stuff all the papers back into her bag and Mike would flop back down on the couch, and the process of biting his tongue to stop himself from screaming at Harvey and demanding he treat him how he used to would begin all over again.

At least, this is how the days would unfold until the two week anniversary of Mike’s hospital release.

“Mike! You look good! Life outside hospital must really be working for you.”

Mike grinned at Dr Warren as she came into the exam room. Harvey had elected to stay outside in the waiting area, and Mike was glad of it; it meant he got to stand up under his own steam rather than be forced to lie on the table. “I’m feeling a lot better, Doc.”

“I can see that.” Dr Warren picked up his chart and flipped through it, gesturing for him to hop up on the exam table. “Let’s have a look at you.”

Mike unbuttoned his shirt and lay back against the plastic covered table. Dr Warren snapped on a pair of gloves, leaning over him and gently pulling back the bandages. “Oh, this looks good, Mike. I think we can take these stitches out today.”

“Does that mean no more dressings?”

Dr Warren grinned. “Yep. From now on you can shower as much as you like.” She pulled a tray close to her elbow and injected a local anaesthetic close to the wound, picking up the chart again as she waited for it to take effect. “Now, have you been experiencing any fever? Your chest ever feel hot?”

“Nope and nope.”

She ticked a few boxes. “Any dizziness or fainting spells?”

“No to the fainting, but I do feel a bit dizzy after I take my meds.”

Dr Warren nodded. “It’s probably time for us to drop your dosage. Are you experiencing any tightness in your chest?”

 _Yes. Whenever I look at Harvey_ , Mike thought, but he didn’t think she was asking about that. “Other than the stitches pulling, no.”

“Okay then.” Dr Warren put the chart down and prodded at Mike’s chest. “We’ll get these stitches out, and I’ll give you a new prescription for a lower dosage of pain meds, okay?”

Mike nodded and lay back, feeling the dull pull of his skin as she worked. Moments later, she patted his arm and he looked down at his bare chest. A four inch scar ran from just below his collarbone in a vertical line, a row of neat little pinpricks along each side. The skin was reddened slightly from being pulled about, but otherwise it looked way more than a month old. Mike was amazed.

“I know, right?” Dr Warren said, understanding the look on his face. “It’s incredible how quickly the human body can fix itself. You’ll be back on your feet properly in no time.”

Mike sat up. “Does that mean I no longer need looking after?” He kept his focus on doing up his buttons, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Dr Warren sighed. “Mike, look at me.” She waited until Mike finished fiddling with his shirt and reluctantly met her gaze. “You have a patch on your lung. Your ribs are still too busy healing themselves to properly protect your chest. You were in a coma for a week, with a GCS score of 6. Any lower and odds are you wouldn’t be sitting here talking to me right now.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t mean to scare you, but you need to understand just how lucky you were, Mike. The human body is amazingly adept at healing itself, but you need to give it the time it needs to do that. You need someone there to remind you not to overstretch yourself, and you can’t be alone while you’re dosed up to the eyeballs on medication. There’s a reason we do observation rounds in hospitals, you know, and it’s not because we like to disrupt your sleep. Okay?”

Mike sighed but nodded. “Yeah, I get it. Just, how much longer, do you think?”

Dr Warren eyed him speculatively. “Come back to see me in another two weeks. If you no longer need medication to function without pain, we can talk about it. Deal?”

“Deal.” Mike smiled at her; she really was a lot like his Grams.

Dr Warren pushed back her stool and stood up. “Although why you’re in such a hurry to get away from that hunk of gorgeousness, I have no idea.” She opened the door just as Mike’s cheeks flushed bright red. “See you in two weeks.”

Mike walked out into the waiting room and looked for Harvey, stopping dead when he saw him standing against the wall. “No.”

“Mike, we’ve talked about this.” Harvey pushed the empty wheelchair over to him and stood up straight, his eyes determined and yet still not quite making contact with Mike’s.

Mike ground his teeth. “And I said ‘no’.” They’d already had this discussion outside the hospital, and Mike had stormed inside before Harvey had had a chance to locate a chair and stuff him into it. “I got the all clear from Dr Warren, had my stitches taken out and my pain meds lowered, and she’s said I’ll be fine in another couple of weeks -”

“Mike -” Harvey tried to interrupt but Mike just talked louder over him.

“So if you don’t put that thing back where you found it Harvey, I swear to God...” The room around them, which had been full of whispering patients and their family members, suddenly went completely silent. Mike glanced around, feeling blood rush to his face as he realised everyone was staring at them. He sighed and leaned closer to Harvey, his voice lowering into an almost hiss. “I am going to go find Ray and the car. You can either walk with me or you can get in the damn chair after I’ve knocked you the _fuck_ out.” He spun on his heel and made his way quickly towards the entrance.

And okay, so his face might have stayed heated for the entire journey back to Harvey’s apartment. Getting angry at Harvey wasn’t something that happened all that often, and he’d certainly never spoken to him like that before. But while a part of him wanted to grovel and apologise profusely, a far larger part was still too angry and confused to care. He had to spend another two weeks feeling constantly uncomfortable around Harvey and he’d lost his temper. He didn’t understand why Harvey was making this so difficult - did he think Mike was enjoying having the great Harvey Specter at his beck and call? - but he was fast losing patience with trying to figure it out. He just wanted to get back to his own cramped compartment and back to work, so that whatever had changed between them could just go back to how they had always been.

That’s all he wanted.

 

* * *

 

 

The drive back to Harvey’s apartment had managed to be even more uncomfortable than their first trip home from the hospital. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike could see Ray constantly looking back at them, his gaze flicking between Mike and Harvey like he was trying to work out what was wrong. Mike wanted to ask him to let him know if he ever figured it out. It obviously wasn’t just in his head if even Ray could see that something was different between Mike and Harvey. Mike had considered talking to Donna about it - if anyone was going to know why Harvey had suddenly become so very distant recently, it was her - but he’d chickened out at the last moment. He didn’t think he was ready to be told that Harvey was mad at him for depending on him more than he already does.

Mike hated being this indebted to Harvey. It wasn’t enough that the man had picked him up out of the gutter and given him a job, putting his own career in jeopardy in doing so, stood up to Jessica for him, got Trevor out of trouble for him, and been there for him when his Grams died, now he had to rely on him to help feed, dress and bathe him too? The only thing Mike could give him in return was his mind, and even that was failing him these days. He’d tried his hardest to remember exactly what had happened that day on the courthouse steps, straining himself until he gave himself a pounding headache. And despite how often he and Donna went through those pilfered files, he still had nothing to show for it. He wasn’t even all that useful to Harvey workwise at the moment; being stuck on a couch all day made it difficult for him to research as well as he would like. The only thing he was good for there was proofing briefs, and even that was hard to concentrate on, his head too full with frustrations over his current status with Harvey to let him fully focus on the tasks at hand.

All in all, Mike was feeling pretty dejected by the time they left Ray and stepped into the elevator together, Harvey still not looking at him. The glass cage rose away from the street and Mike could feel all his frustrations rising with it, so that by the time the doors swished quietly open to reveal Harvey’s apartment he felt like he might explode if he didn’t say something. He bit down on his lower lip to quell the rising tide of emotions within him and stepped out onto the plush carpet. If he could just get to the spare room and lie down for a while, he might be able to talk himself into holding back the flood of words he was becoming increasingly desperate to spit at Harvey. He started walking forwards, the words _2 more weeks, just 2 more weeks_ a mantra in his head.

“Go rest on the couch, I’ll make us something to eat.”

And just like that, the dam broke. Everything Mike had been feeling for the past 2 weeks, all of his frustrations and uselessness and _hurt_ , just bubbled up inside him and flowed into his mouth, tripping over his tongue in their haste to make themselves heard.

“Okay look, I don’t like this any more than you do, okay? I mean, do you think I want to be stuck in this apartment with you all day long for yet another 2 weeks? Look at this place, everything is so over-organised I feel like I’m in a museum and alarms are going to go off if I accidentally cross some kind of invisible barrier, it’s ridiculous Harvey, you’ve taken anally retentive and made an art form out of it.”

It wasn’t true; yes the place was tidy to an almost OCD level, but it didn’t make Mike feel uncomfortable - just the opposite, which right at this point he _hated_ about the place. He shouldn’t feel like this place is home, especially when the man it belongs to is being so guarded around him, but all of these things mean Harvey and whether Mike liked it or not being with Harvey had always felt like coming home to him.

“I know you don’t want me here, and believe me if I had _anywhere_ else to go I would be there like a shot, but I really don’t have any other choice right now, so I would really appreciate it if you would stop treating me like some ugly glass figurine that you really don’t like but have to keep around for appearances sake!”

Harvey stared at him, head tilted to the side like he thought Mike had finally lost his mind. Maybe he had. “You think I don’t want you here?” He finally asked, quietly, thoughtfully, almost a little surprised.

Mike let out an incredulous laugh. “Do you?”

“Of course I want you here, do you really think I would take this much time off work to be here with you if I didn’t want to?”

“Then why have you been acting like this?” Mike was aware that his voice was getting higher and louder with every sentence, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “You won’t look at me Harvey, you can barely talk to me, and I really don’t get why you would treat me like I’m some kind of unpleasant rash that you’re waiting to fade away. Have I done something wrong? Are you mad at me or something?”

“Yes, Mike, I’m mad at you!” Harvey finally exploded, taking a step forward and pulling a hand out of his pants pocket to point at Mike. “You got shot, you stood in front of -” He cut himself off and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s like some kind of a sickness with you, first with Trevor and now with - It’s like you can’t even take care of yourself without putting yourself in harm’s way, and I don’t want to be responsible for that!”

Mike took an involuntary step back, feeling as though he’d just been slapped. Did Harvey really blame him for getting shot?

Harvey blew out a breath. “I need to go into the office. I’ll call Donna on my way.” His eyes swept over Mike’s face once before looking away quickly, and Mike felt something inside of him crumple. Harvey turned on his heel and strode out of the room, not even bothering to change out of his jeans and henley before leaving the apartment.

Mike sank slowly down onto the couch and put his head in his hands. So he really was a burden to Harvey. He kept getting himself in trouble and Harvey had to keep coming to his rescue, and now he was getting sick of it. He curled into himself, a tight feeling in his chest that he wished he could blame on the surgery threatening to choke off his air supply, but he didn’t move.

 

* * *

 

 

He didn’t know how long he sat there like that, but after a while he felt long nails scratch gently through his hair.

“What did you do now?”

Mike almost laughed; apparently there was a list a mile long of his mistakes that he could tell Donna. He scrubbed his hands across his face, annoyed but unsurprised to find them come away damp.

“I shouted at Harvey.”

“I see.” Donna waggled a brown paper bag in front of him and sat down on the opposite armchair. “And?”

Mike unfurled the bag and took a sniff; a cheeseburger from his favourite cafe down the road from his own apartment. The gesture almost made him want to cry.

“And he shouted back. Told me how he’s fed up with being responsible for me.” He took a bite of his burger; it tasted like cardboard, but his stomach rumbled in anticipation regardless. “I guess getting myself shot was the last straw on that front.” He looked up in time to see Donna roll her eyes, twisting her Starbucks cup between her fingers. “What?”

Donna gave him a look, one that plainly telegraphed that she thought he was being particularly dense about something. “Oh Mike, for someone with a brain as big as yours, you are astoundingly stupid sometimes.”

“Yep, he was right. He shook his head. “You didn’t hear him Donna, it’s pretty damn difficult to mistake what he said. He was very clear. He didn’t even need to say it, the way he’s been acting ever since I woke up has been practically screaming it.” He looked back down at his half finished burger. He felt slightly sick.

Donna rapped her knuckles on the walnut coffee table between them. “Okay, listen carefully Rookie, because I am only going to say this once. Are you listening?” He nodded, and she gave him a brief condescending smile. “Harvey feels guilty.” Mike opened his mouth to speak, but Donna cut him off with a raised hand. “He didn’t take the threat to himself seriously, and you paid the price. He made a mistake, and you got hurt. He’s angry with himself and feeling guilty about what happened. It’s making him cranky, which I’m sure isn’t fun to live with right now.”

Mike thought about it. “Okay, angry I can understand. But why would he be feeling guilty? Even if he had taken the threat seriously and gotten the police involved, they’re still no closer to working out who it is. The same thing would have happened.”

Donna regarded him speculatively. “How much of that day have you remembered?”

Mike shrugged. “Just bits and pieces. I remember the case we were in court for. I remember going outside to get some lunch. Then, nothing until I woke up in the hospital. Why?”

Donna snorted elegantly. “Ironic how the one time that memory of yours could actually be useful for something other than movie quotes, it fails spectacularly,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

“Donna,” Mike moved to the edge of his seat and met her gaze. “What happened that day?”

She stood up, brushing her skirt down needlessly. “I don’t know, I wasn’t there. But you know who was?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe you should talk to him about it.”

Mike stuffed the last of his burger into his mouth as he thought about how that conversation would go. He snorted.

Donna sighed. “Fine. Go and take a shower or something, your man pain is leaking all over the place. I’ll get the cards out. And no counting this time!” she added as Mike got up and headed for the bathroom.

“I didn’t count last time!”

“Sure you didn’t, Rain Man.”

 

* * *

 

 

Mike didn’t talk to Harvey. He thought about it, spent his time playing poker for corn chips with Donna imagining various ways of starting a conversation. But each scenario ended with Harvey telling him what a waste of space he was and ordering Ray to take Mike back to the hospital. Not that Mike actually thought Harvey would do that, but his feelings were hurt and his imagination couldn’t get past that long enough for him to come up with something more realistic. Harvey had called Donna’s cellphone at around 9 in the evening to say that he would be home late and they could order in whatever they wanted for dinner, and Mike tried and failed to not let the fact that he called Donna instead of him hurt him more. They ended up ordering Chinese food and sitting on the couch together watching Mean Girls, Donna labelling all the characters with people from the office. Mike joined in and tried to get into the bitching session, but it fell flat even to his own ears, so he knew he hadn’t fooled Donna. He finally went to bed at around midnight, with Harvey still absent, and Mike wondered if he was now avoiding his own apartment in order to stay away from Mike. The thought made him feel incredibly lonely. He slept fitfully, rousing once when he heard the door open and Donna’s muttered “ _boys_ ” as she strode past Harvey and went home. Harvey didn’t come in to check on him and Mike didn’t get up to see Harvey either, and he spent the rest of the night tossing and turning and wondering just how he had managed to fuck this up so much.

The next day, Mike was tired from his lack of sleep, and from the slight bruising under Harvey’s eyes he hadn’t fared much better. Mike thought about starting the conversation again, but by some unspoken agreement they were both being carefully polite towards each other, and he didn’t want to rock their new precarious position.

But he didn’t stop thinking about it. Donna’s question and non-answer over the events of the day he had been shot kept returning to him. He spent the next week desperately trying to force himself to remember and becoming increasingly frustrated with himself when nothing came. Not of that day anyway, although other memories creeped in from his time in the hospital. His memories of those weeks were still slightly fuzzy, trapped between memories and dreams as he had been trapped between sleeping and awake for so much of his time there. Now they came back to him in his sleep, as though his mind was trying to prove that it was still working, apologising for that one blank spot by throwing the rest of the blurry images into sharp relief. He remembered the way Harvey’s hand felt wrapped around his own, thumb moving in gentle reassuring circles over his knuckles, telling him Harvey wasn’t going anywhere. He remembered fingers in his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead as he clawed his way out of flashback dreams of the night of his parents’ deaths, breath catching in his throat until those soft caresses brought him back down. He remembered Harvey understanding the look of fear in his eyes as the police asked him what he could remember of that day, Harvey ordering the men out of the room without breaking eye contact with Mike and quoting movies at him until Mike calmed down enough to answer. He remembered the way Harvey’s hand squeezed his own as he stepped outside to give the police his statement, saying he’ll be right back with that little smile on his face that he kept just for Mike. And he remembered Harvey returning more than a few hours later, standing by the wall instead of next to the bed, looking over Mike’s head instead of at him.

The day before his - hopefully last - appointment with Dr Warren, Mike was woken by a hand softly shaking his shoulder. He blinked and rolled over in bed, Harvey’s wide silk tie coming into focus in front of his face in the soft dawn light. Harvey was dressed for the office, lilac pin-striped 3 piece suit and hair gelled back into his usual style. Mike had seen it so rarely these past few weeks that it took him a moment to understand what this meant.

“Jessica needs me in the office for the day,” Harvey said, still not quite meeting his eyes. Mike suppressed a sigh. “And I need Donna today. Is there anyone else I can call?” His eyes flicked up to Mike’s and then away again. “Rachel maybe, or that other associate, what's his name, Henry?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine, Harvey. I’m probably going to be moving back to my own place after the hospital tomorrow, I think I can spend the day by myself.”

Harvey looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. “If you need something, call Donna. We’ll figure something out.” He walked out of the room and a few moments later Mike heard the front door swish quietly open and closed.

For a while he just lay there, revelling in the silence. He’d hardly had a moment to himself in over a month, and while usually he hated the quiet, it felt nice to be able to have that option again. He’d felt stifled for so long, cooped up behind four walls that didn’t belong to him, always feeling eyes watching him closely as he moved around. The past few days had been especially wearing; he hardly needed to take any pain meds anymore, and he felt as though he was going to vibrate out of his skin from all the unused energy filling him up. Then he realised, he had the entire day to himself.

He got out of bed and showered and dressed quickly, foregoing making himself breakfast in favour of stopping off at a cafe somewhere outside. Even though Harvey had finally let him out on the balcony in the past week - with a blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders so he wouldn’t catch a chill, obviously - Mike felt as though he hadn’t had the sun and the wind on his skin in years. He decided he was going to walk to his apartment, grab up his Ipod and take a walk around the city. It’s what he used to do whenever he couldn’t get a good angle on a case he’d been working on; there was something about walking through the packed streets, watching other people hurrying about yet still separated from them by the barrier of whatever music pumped out of his earplugs. It made him feel peaceful, and it gave his mind a chance to calm down and just let the answer come to him naturally.

It didn’t take him long to reach his apartment, and he jogged up the steps to his floor, feeling invigorated by his time out in the open air. Nobody in his building commented on his absence, but then, it wasn’t as though he spent all that much time here usually. At least 2 nights out of seven he would spend in the library at the office, working on something or other for either Harvey or Louis, and the other 5 nights a week he was rarely home before midnight. His apartment looked exactly the same as he remembered it; newspapers and junk mail piled up on the table by the door, bag of dirty laundry leaning against the wall waiting to be cleaned, pile of take out menus on the kitchen counter. It did look slightly cleaner than he had left it - the empty pizza boxes were no longer balanced precariously on the coffee table, throw blankets folded over the back of the couch - evidently Donna had cleaned up a little when she had dropped by to pick up his things for him.

He found his Ipod in the front pocket of his messenger bag. He thought about tidying up a bit himself, maybe putting some fresh sheets on his bed, but he figured he could do all of that after the hospital cleared him the following day. Right now he wanted to be outside, in the fresh air, eye level with the inhabitants of New York City instead of looking down at them from the great height of Harvey’s penthouse apartment. He practically fled back out and onto the street, plugging in his music and letting the bustling crowds direct his path through the city.

He’d been wandering for about an hour when he accidentally bumped into a police officer, too busy soaking up the atmosphere to pay attention to where he was going. After making his apologies and ducking around the corner, he stopped suddenly. Something in his memory slotted together, a piece of the puzzle sliding into place. Harvey had withdrawn after he’d spoken with the police, after giving his eyewitness statement. He hailed a taxi and climbed in, giving directions to detective Hanson’s precinct.

“Mr Ross! Good to see you up and about.”

Mike smiled at the detective as he was ushered into a seat beside the man’s desk, his eyes taking in all the empty coffee cups littering the surface, highlighters and paper shoved haphazardly on top of everything. Exchange the coffee cups for energy drink cans and it could have been his own cubicle.

“I thought we said we’d call if we had any news, not turn up like this?” Hanson’s brown eyes sparkled as he smiled, showing he didn’t mind the intrusion.

“I haven’t actually remembered anything more,” Mike replied, shrugging a little, trying to get rid of the itch beneath his skin that made itself known every time he remembered that he couldn’t remember. “But that’s actually why I’m here, I thought maybe you could help with that.”

The detective raised his eyebrows. “Anything I can do to help I will, to be honest we’ve hit a bit of a dead end with the investigation. But I don’t get how I could be useful?”

Mike took a breath. “I was wondering if I could read the eyewitness statements. Maybe hearing what happened from a bystander might jog my memory.”

Hanson frowned, looking down at his desk. “We’re not really supposed to show those to anybody.”

Mike laughed. “Believe me, I know. But if I just sit here in front of you and read them? You can block out any of the private information. I’d just like to see what other people saw. Maybe then I’d remember.”

The detective looked furtively around the room, making sure the rest of the detectives were busy with their own work, before reaching down into a file cabinet tucked under his desk. He pulled out a manila folder and flicked through it, separating out a few pieces of paper. He cast another furtive glance around the room before setting them down in front of Mike. “I’m not really allowed to do this, you know.” Mike nodded and picked up the papers, stopping when Hanson stretched a hand out over them. “You can’t take them with you.”

Mike nodded. “That’s okay.” He wouldn’t need to. He flipped them over and began to read.

 

* * *

 

 

Mike was sitting on the edge of Harvey’s bed when the front door opened, the clink of keys being set down heralding Harvey’s arrival. The was the first time Mike had been in this room during the month he had been staying here; he hadn’t even peeked through the doorway, even the thought of looking sending a rush of blood through his cheeks. After the police station, Mike had wandered back to Harvey’s, his head full of the statements he had read. There had been 3 all together; someone who had been sitting in a taxi outside the courthouse, someone who had just happened to be walking past at the wrong moment, and Harvey. He had read them all, and so could quote all of them verbatim, but Harvey’s was the clearest, standing out in his mind’s eye and obscuring all else.

He’d wandered the apartment, going out onto the balcony and looking down at all the city’s inhabitant, rushing around below him like ants on a fallen log. Then he’d gone back inside and grabbed Harvey’s laptop, viciously retyping the words he had memorised back at the police station, the need for hard copy evidence of what had happened curled tight in his gut as he worked. He’d printed off Harvey’s words and called Donna, asking what time Harvey would be coming home.

“In about an hour, I think, he’s just wrapping up a partners’ meeting.”

“Good. Tell him I’ll see him when he gets back.”

She sighed down the line. “You’re angry.”

“Yes.” He didn’t try to deny it. He’d never been very good at hiding his emotions, even over the phone. It was something that Harvey was constantly berating him for.

“Listen, Mike.” The phone crackled, as though she was shifting her position, and when she began speaking again she sounded slightly muffled, voice dropped down to an almost whisper. “Whatever it is that’s upset you, that’s fine. I’m not going to try to smooth anything over, you two boys need to work this out on your own.” She took a breath, the sound coming sharp and high through the phone. “I just think you should know one thing. When you were hurt, he wouldn’t leave your side. Jessica literally had to drag him out so that he could get some sleep, and he only left then after we promised someone would always be there with you. He didn’t want you to be left on your own.”

Mike closed his eyes. “That doesn’t really help.”

“I didn’t say it would help, I said it was something you needed to know.”

Mike had hung up the phone and stood up, his fingers clasped around the print out of Harvey’s statement. As though working off of some silent cue, Mike walked down the hallway and pushed open Harvey’s bedroom door, pausing at the threshold as he surveyed the large space. Floor to ceiling windows covered one wall, and Mike realised that the one way glass he had seen from out on the balcony had been Harvey’s bedroom window. He wondered what it would feel like to stand at that window, looking out over the world without being seen. Would it feel powerful? Or lonely? Mike suspected a bit of both.

The bed was large and simple, dark wood and white sheets, fluffy pillows standing out in stark contrast against the polished walnut headboard. Chests of drawers matching the wood making up the bed lined one wall, a sleek television and a stack of classic films rendered to dvd taking pride of place on top. Two doors led off from the opposite side of the room, and Mike stepped over to them, the plush carpet muffling his footsteps as he walked across the large expanse. One door led into an en suite bathroom, pale grey slate tiles merging into sleek white units. But it was the other door that interested Mike the most, and he moved over to it, pulling the door open wide and stepping inside. His eyes alighted on rows upon rows of suits, organised by colour and then by design. A sea of shirts lined the opposite wall, a tie rack sitting right in the middle, the wide pieces of fabric spread out for easy colour matching. Shoes polished to a high shine sat below the shirts, waiting to be stepped into, brogues and lace-ups and loafers, styles for every occasion. A large black jewellery box stood on top of a small table right at the back, next to a full length mirror. The flap sat open, showing rows upon rows of cufflinks and watches and tie pins, glittering in the soft amber glow of the under-lighting. Mike let his fingers trail lightly across the suits, feeling the wool blend into silk into cotton into linen, fingernails tracing the thin stripes of colour as he encountered them. He reached out and ran a hand over the silk ties, his mind automatically matching them up with the suits Harvey wore them with. His toes brushed against a shoebox, hidden beneath the tie rack. Mike bent down and lifted the lid, wondering what kind of shoes Harvey had bought that needed to be kept in their box for fear of being damaged. Maybe they were diamond encrusted.

Instead the box was empty except for some tissue paper, and Mike replaced the lid. Something rolled inside as he pushed it back into place and he pulled it back out, taking off the lid again and moving the tissue paper aside. Inside he found a pair of cufflinks and a tie. Frowning, he picked up the items, his eyebrows raising as he realised the tie was just like the ones he wears to work; skinny, polyester blend, the colour neither blue nor grey. His eyes widened as he realised that this was one of his own ties, a spare that he had brought into the office and waved in Harvey’s face. Harvey had snatched it out of his hand and declared that one skinny tie in the office at a time was still one too many. He’d been shuffled out of Harvey’s office before he found out what Harvey had done with the tie, but he’d just assumed that Harvey had thrown it in the trash. In his other hand he held a pair of cufflinks; he twisted them around in the palm of his hand so that he could see them properly. _Best Boss_. Mike laughed to himself as he remembered handing them to Harvey at the office Christmas party, watching his eyebrows raise and his dramatic eye roll.

“At least you got the sentiment right, Rookie, even if the packaging leaves a lot to be desired.”

“No, the packaging is at least half of the sentiment. They look shiny and perfect from a distance, but get close enough and you see they’re just for show.”

“And what’s underneath is faded and dull?” Harvey had asked, his gaze flicking down to the floor for a moment.

Mike had smiled and shook his head. “You’re missing the point, Harvey. Sometimes even base metals can shine as bright as a diamond.” He shrugged. “If you know where to look.” Harold had chosen that moment to call him over to the bar, and Mike had reached out, placing his hand on Harvey’s arm for a too brief moment. “Merry Christmas, Harvey.”

Mike had assumed that Harvey had dumped both the cufflinks and their box in the back of his desk drawer and never thought of them again, so seeing them here, in a shoebox in Harvey’s walk in wardrobe with a cheap skinny tie that once belonged to Mike threw him for a loop. He closed the box back up and brought it out of the small room with him, slipping back out into the bedroom. The statement he had printed off still lay on the bed where he had dropped it on the way past, and he walked over to it, anger bubbling up inside him all over again. He sank down on the end of the bed and waited for Harvey to come home.

 

* * *

 

 

Harvey was feeling tired and hungry by the time Ray let him out in front of his apartment. Jessica had made him sit through meeting after meeting all day long, first with clients and then with the partners. Apparently there were a few ruffled feathers his absence had caused that he had needed to smooth over; clients worried he might be dropping the ball on their interests, partners wondering if he really had what it took to be one of them, Jessica herself wondering if he had burnt out. Not that she said anything to his face of course, but then, she didn’t really need to; Harvey knew what she was thinking because he was thinking the same thing.

He’d just taken 6 weeks off work. He might have brought work home with him and he might have spent three lunches out of seven schmoozing clients, but the fact remained that he had just taken 6 weeks off of work in order to look after his associate. And what was even worse was that he couldn’t find it in him to care. Getting dressed in his finest work suit this morning had been a rushed affair. Instead of looking at his (admittedly, still fabulous) reflection in the mirror with pride and not a little smugness, looking forward to a day of showing the rest of his colleagues up, he’d felt slightly reticent, bordering on apathetic. He hadn’t wanted to leave Mike, and the thought of going into the office and not seeing that damned skinny tie waving in his face had been almost unbearable. So maybe he was burned out, maybe this threat to his life and what happened to Mike had made him see just how superficial his life had become. Mike had almost died, because some asshole was pissed off about losing money, and while Harvey used to understand that money made the world go round, now he felt as though he might have been wrong all along.

He nodded his thanks at the doorman, making a mental note to find out the man’s name (he could just ask Mike, because of course he would know). He felt his chest tighten as the elevator doors swished closed behind him, and he couldn’t work out if it was in anticipation or trepidation. Living with Mike for the past month had been like a double edged sword for Harvey. He hated just how much he _liked_ having Mike in his apartment - it was as though he filled up all the empty spaces just by being there. He made the leather couch feel cozy rather than cold, the clutter he left in his wake as he moved around gave the place a lived in feel, and Harvey found he didn’t even care that he was wrecking the smooth lines of the interior design. He actually welcomed it, it made him feel like he lived there too, whereas before he’d always felt a bit like he was just occupying space. Walking through the door and finding Mike on the other side, dropping down onto the couch as though he thought Harvey wouldn’t know he’d spent the entire time in his absence walking up and down the apartment, felt _right_ to Harvey in a way that he couldn’t explain even to himself.

Of course it hadn’t exactly been idyllic between the two of them this past month; there was a tension there they had never had to deal with in their relationship before, and Harvey knew that it was all down to him. But he couldn’t look at Mike without seeing the evidence of his own stupidity, he couldn’t talk to him without remembering all those hours he spent talking and getting no response. He couldn’t go quote for quote when Mike was bringing up movies Harvey had played on his laptop in that stifling hospital room without feeling a sudden and desperate need to run from the room and throw up. And Mike sitting on the couch next to him, feet brushing his thigh and fingers touching his shoulder as he shouted at the tv, was so close to those barely there fantasies that he never let himself think about and he hated the fact that he could feel himself giving into the feeling when he knew that it would be over soon. After tomorrow, in fact, and then his apartment will start feeling colder and darker and emptier than it had ever been before, and Harvey would have to live with the memories of all the things that never happened that he never let himself want.

The elevator stopped and the doors swished open for him. He stepped up to his front door, his chest tighter and his heart pounding faster. He could go in and pretend that he hadn’t been acting like an asshole for the past few weeks and suggest take out and a movie as a celebration for Mike earning his freedom. He could go in and apologise for how he’d been behaving recently, explain to Mike so that he knew it was all Harvey’s fault. Or he could go in and act exactly the same way, counting down the hours until tomorrow when he could drown himself in some incredibly expensive whiskey.

The meeting with the partners had run on far too long, so the sky was dark by the time he opened the door to his apartment. And so was his apartment. The kitchen was bathed in shadows, and the living area was silent, empty. It wasn’t late enough that Mike would have already gone to bed, and Harvey felt his heart pick up speed as he wondered what had happened. In just a few short weeks he had become so used to returning to such life in his apartment that the emptiness around him felt incongruous, wrong. Had Mike fallen ill? Or had he just decided to pack up and leave a day earlier than expected? Harvey didn’t know which idea felt worse to him in that moment.

“Mike?”

“In here.”

Relief flooded through him, and he followed Mike’s voice down the hallway to the bedrooms. He stopped short at the sight that met him from the doorway of his bedroom. Mike sat on the end of his bed, bare toes curling in the carpet, the stretched out neckline of his plain t shirt falling over one shoulder, sweatpants bagging around his ankles. The bedside lights had been turned on, the light dancing across Mike’s skin, highlighting his freckles and making his blond hair shine. He was staring down at a piece of paper in his hands, and when he looked up and focused those blues eyes on him, Harvey felt the breath leave his lungs in a rush.

“What are you..?” Harvey pushed the door open further and took a step over the threshold, stopping again as he saw the look on Mike’s face.

“We need to talk,” Mike said, quietly, flatly, brooking no argument.

“Okay,” Harvey said slowly. “About anything in particular?”

Mike rolled his eyes and pinned him with a look, straightening his shoulders as he stared at Harvey unflinchingly. “We could start with you telling me exactly what happened the day I got shot.”

Harvey flinched and looked away. “Dr Warren said pushing you to remember was a bad idea. She said if you never remember, then it was probably for the best.”

“Yes, thank you, Harvey, I was there, I know what she said. But this isn’t about me remembering what happened. I want to know what _you_ remember.” He thrust the piece of paper towards him, and Harvey took it instinctively. “Just in case you need a little reminder. I’ve highlighted the good parts.”

Harvey looked down and saw his own words staring back out at him. His eyewitness statement he had given to the police while Mike was still in hospital. Lurid yellow highlighter threw out phrases in sharp relief, _I made him go outside with me_ and _he must have seen something_ and _he stepped in front of me..._

“How did you get this?”

“I read it, how do you think? And that’s not the point here.”

“Then what is?” Harvey schooled his features and looked back at Mike. “You still can’t remember, so I don’t see how this changes anything.”

“What it changes, Harvey, is that now I get why you’ve been acting like you’re disappointed in me for the last month.” Mike brushed a hand through his hair and Harvey could see by the raw look on his face just how much he had hurt Mike by pushing him away. “What it changes, is how much sense our argument a couple weeks ago now makes, and I am pissed off, Harvey!”

“What?” Harvey was confused; he thought that Mike was annoyed he hadn’t told him what a stupid mistake he’d made by stepping in front of Harvey.

“You told me you were mad at me, Harvey. You told me that I can’t seem to take care of myself and that you didn’t want to be held responsible for that.” Mike’s breathing was harsh, like he was just barely stopping himself from shouting at the top of his lungs. “I have spent the last 2 weeks feeling like absolute shit because of that, thinking that after all the things you’ve done for me I’m still a fuck up and I’m never going to be able to repay you and it doesn’t even matter that I can’t because you’re done picking up after my mistakes!” His voice climbed higher as he spoke, hands flailing around in front of him and Harvey couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“And then I read that, and I find out that ‘accidentally’ getting shot wasn’t the mistake I made that you were so mad about. It was the fact that I stood in front of you and took the bullet meant for you.” Mike shook his head, a bubble of derisive laughter curling his lip. “You weren’t angry because I fucked up, you were angry because I cared. It’s not my _mistakes_ you don’t want the responsibility for, it’s my _feelings_.”

Mike stood up and stalked closer to Harvey, closing the gap between them until there was just a few scant inches left to cross before their chests touched.

“Well let me tell you something, Harvey fucking Specter. If it happened tomorrow I would do it again. They’re _my_ feelings and my decisions, and you don’t get to take them away from me and call them _your_ responsibility. Putting myself in harm’s way for Trevor was a mistake, but doing the same for you? That was a choice that I stand by, because loving you could never be a mistake. And _fuck you_ if you think you can take my feelings away from me and make them all about you.”

Mike came to a sudden stop, breathing hard as though he’d just run a marathon. Harvey said nothing, staring at Mike as his brain tripped over one word in Mike’s tirade, over and over again like a record skipping under its needle. Mike’s eyes suddenly widened as he realised what he had blurted out and he took a step back, his mouth falling open. And Harvey couldn’t stand the idea of him retracting that one word, and so he did the only logical thing he could think of. He leaned forwards and captured Mike’s lips with his own, closing those last few inches of space between them. He let his statement flutter out of his hand as he reached up to slide his fingers through Mike’s soft hair, swallowing the surprised moan that slipped from Mike’s mouth. “Harvey,” Mike whispered against him, fingers curling in the silk lined lapels of his jacket and hauling him impossibly closer.

Harvey wrapped his fingers around Mike’s hip, thumb coming into contact with bare skin, sending a thrill racing through him. He licked at the seam of Mike’s lips and Mike opened for him, letting Harvey explore the inside of his mouth for a moment before taking control of the kiss, pushing back with his tongue as his hands grabbed tighter to Harvey’s clothing, twisting them around on the spot. He walked Harvey backwards until his knees hit the edge of his bed. Mike pushed him down and went down with him, straddling his thighs without breaking their kiss. Harvey put one hand down on the bed for balance and his fingers slid across a box. He looked down and felt blood rush to his cheeks when he realised Mike had found the box he kept in the back of his wardrobe.

Mike’s blue eyes glittered and his lips turned up in a knowing smirk. Harvey reached out a hand and brushed one of the cufflinks. The dream he’d had while Mike had still been in hospital flooded through him and he leaned up to kiss Mike again, needing to reassure himself that this was real, that Mike was here and okay.

“I thought you might have thrown them away,” Mike murmured against his lips, hands sliding over Harvey’s shoulders and into his hair.

Harvey shrugged. “They were a present from you.”

Mike leaned down and kissed him again, and Harvey wrapped his fingers around Mike’s waist, pulling him closer. “You are the only man I have ever known who puts so much stock in their appearance,” he whispered, almost to himself. He slid his hands back down to Harvey’s jacket, fingers slipping beneath the fabric and pushing it off Harvey’s shoulders. “Did you know my Dad was a businessman? My parents would host these corporate parties at our home, and I would watch them from the stairs. None of them ever looked as good as you in a suit.” He pulled the jacket away and dropped it to the floor, his eyes raking over Harvey’s waistcoat. His fingers moved to the buttons and he carried on talking. “The first day we met, I was speechless for a moment. I was wearing a suit, and I fit in so well with all those Harvard graduates sitting in that waiting room that Donna just assumed I belonged there, but as soon as I stepped inside that room with you, I could tell there was something special about you.” The last button opened and Mike pushed it off Harvey’s shoulders, letting it join the jacket on the floor. “Even at Pearson Hardman, your suits shine brighter than the rest.” He unclipped the tie pin, dropping it in the box beside them as his fingers moved nimbly to the knot at Harvey’s throat. “Of course, you know this about yourself,” Mike smirked gently at him. “You wear these clothes like a suit of armour, hoping the shine will blind everyone to what lies beneath.” He let the tie slither to the floor and wrapped his fingers around one of Harvey’s wrists, undoing the silver cufflink and letting it fall into the box before moving to the other one. “But I see you, Harvey.” Mike’s smile turned genuine as he began opening the buttons on Harvey’s silk shirt one by one. “I see the imperfections that you try so hard to hide, and they dazzle me with their brightness.” He slid the shirt down Harvey’s arms, throwing the fabric behind him and forgetting its existence. He placed his hands on Harvey’s jaw, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.

“Every diamond has its flaws, Harvey,” Mike whispered. “If you can’t see one, then it’s not real. But I see the real you.” He looked deep into Harvey’s eyes, making sure he had his attention. “And loving the real you is a choice I gladly make every day.”

Harvey surged up and kissed Mike, groaning into his mouth as he felt hips rocking down into his. He slid his hands under Mike’s t shirt, fingers skipping over ribs and soft pale skin as he pulled the fabric up and over his head. The first contact of their bare chests was electric, and Harvey felt Mike’s hot fingertips slide down to his belt buckle, undoing it quickly and pulling it through the belt loops. Harvey toed off his shoes and socks and grabbed Mike around his waist, flipping him onto his back.

Mike let out a chuckle as his hip knocked the box off the bed, tipping its contents onto the floor. “I’m still mad at you,” he said, fingers sliding beneath Harvey’s pants, pushing them down.

“I’m mad at me too,” Harvey replied, leaning down and licking a stripe up Mike’s throat, pressing his lips against the pulse point.

Mike shook his head and pushed at Harvey’s shoulders, forcing him to look at him. “Don’t be. Unless it’s for the way you’ve been behaving since I’ve been here. Everything else you have no control over.”

Harvey didn’t reply. He didn’t have the words. Instead he let his actions speak for him. His teeth pressed _I’m sorry_ into a bruise on Mike’s throat, his tongue laved _I love you_ across his collarbone, his lips imparted _I almost lost you_ against the thin red scar on Mike’s chest, and his fingers placed _please don’t leave me_ into the pale skin of Mike’s hip. And Mike answered every touch with touches of his own, replying with kisses and caresses, _I know, me too, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere_.

Harvey divested Mike of his sweatpants and boxers and stared down at him. His skin was flushed and his blue eyes glittered, his pink lips bitten red and wet, parted slightly as he panted. And suddenly Harvey couldn’t remember why he’d never let himself want this. Mike, naked and spread out beneath him, smile curling his lips upward, knees pressing into Harvey’s thighs and sliding his hands up his arms to his shoulders. The entire image was everything he’d never let himself want, and now Harvey couldn’t do anything _but_ want. Mike’s fingers curled around the back of his neck and brought him down into a searing kiss, and Harvey let himself drown in it, in the feel of Mike’s lips against his, in the gasp and arch of his back as their cocks slid together.

“Harvey,” Mike whispered, his breath hot against Harvey’s lips, his voice high and reedy with need.

“I got you,” Harvey kissed into his neck, before leaning over him to the bedside table. He scrambled blindly inside before his fingers encountered the bottle of lube and a packet of condoms.

Mike touched his wrist. “You don’t need those,” he gestured at the box.

“Are you -”

“Come on Harvey, I know you. You’d never take a risk like that. And I’ve just come out of hospital, I think they would have told me if I had anything.”

Harvey winced as the mention of the word ‘hospital’, his eyes unerringly finding the thin scar adorning Mike’s chest. He leaned down and kissed along its length, trailing his lips across to capture his nipple, revelling in the feel of Mike arching under his touch.

“Come on, Harvey, I need -”

“I know.” Harvey traced a trail of open mouthed kisses down Mike’s chest, sliding his tongue along his ribs, dipping into his belly button. He felt Mike shudder beneath him as he moved closer to his destination, felt Mike’s knees dig harder into his waist before falling open wider, encouraging him down. He licked a stripe up the underside of Mike’s cock, his own becoming impossibly harder with each breathy moan that fell from Mike’s lips.

“Fuck, Harvey,” Mike gasped out as harvey circled the tip with his tongue, dipping into the slit before swallowing him down in one smooth slide. With one hand pressed to Mike’s hip, holding him in place, Harvey flipped open the lid, spreading lube over his fingers and reaching down between them. Mike gasped as Hervey circled his entrance with a slick finger, his body pulling taut as a bowstring before relaxing further, encouraging Harvey on. He worked him open slowly, taking his time adding more fingers as he licked and sucked Mike, until he was a writhing mess of need beneath him.

Eventually Mike began pushing at his shoulders, urging him off and up so that Mike could kiss him. “Now, Harvey,” he panted, biting down on the soft skin behind Harvey’s ear. “Come on, please, I just. I need you.”

 _I need you too_ , Harvey replied with a deep kiss, letting Mike taste himself on his tongue. He fumbled for more lube and slicked himself up, lifting Mike’s leg up and around his waist. He watched Mike’s eyelids flutter as he pressed in slowly, the hot tight heat adding to the feeling of being surrounded by Mike. He kissed up Mike’s chest as he let Mike get used to the feel of him, until he felt fingers in his hair again and Mike shifting against him.

“Move, Harvey, I swear to God -” Mike cut himself off with a groan as Harvey thrust against him, wrapping his leg tighter around Harvey’s waist to pull him closer. They moved together, Harvey pressing his lips to the centre of Mike’s chest as Mike arched his back and slid his hands from his hair to his shoulders, fingernails digging in harder with every thrust. Mike pulled Harvey up with a hand in his hair and kissed him until they were both breathless and panting into each others’ mouths. Harvey slid a hand between them and wrapped his fingers around Mike, twisting his wrist in time to his thrusts.

“Oh fuck, Harvey!” Mike groaned as he came, hot liquid spurting over their chests and Harvey’s hand. His muscles tightened with his orgasm and Harvey was coming before he realised what was happening, fingers digging bruises into Mike’s hip as he emptied himself inside him.

They breathed heavily against each other as they both came down, and Harvey dropped his head to press his lips against Mike’s chest. Mike let out a shivery moan and chuckled lightly.

“What?” Harvey slid out and leaned to the side, pulling Mike with him by the hip so that they lay facing each other.

Mike ran his hand up Harvey’s chest and hummed. “This was not how I was expecting the night to end.”

“What did you expect instead?”

Mike shrugged. “I don’t know. A screaming match followed by one of us storming out?”

“You did enough screaming for the both of us.”

Mike’s smile turned shy and Harvey leaned forward, pressing his lips to Mike’s. Mike returned the kiss and then flopped down onto his back. “And now I have a problem.”

Harvey’s heart skipped a beat. “Which is?” He asked, keeping his voice carefully light.

“I’m hungry,” Mike said, and then looked down at himself. “And I’m kinda gross. But this bed is also really damn comfortable. Does Rene make these sheets for you too?”

Harvey laughed in relief. “Of course not. Otherwise they’d match my underwear.”

“So he _does_ make you matching underwear! I knew it!” Mike’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and Harvey had to lean in and kiss him again.

“Go turn on the shower. I’ll call down for some food to be delivered. What do you fancy?”

“Chinese,” Mike replied immediately.

“Really? I’m surprised, I thought you’d be all about pizza.”

Mike snorted a laugh. “As awesome as stuffed crust pizza is - and it is _really_ awesome - Chinese is the best post coital food, everyone knows that.”

“And why is that?”

Mike curled up into Harvey and bit down gently on his shoulder. “Because it’s filling enough that it satisfies the appetite you worked up, but not so heavy that it stops you from enjoying round two.”

Harvey raised his eyebrows. “You’re expecting a round two?”

Mike eyed him confidently. “There isn’t a number created for the amount of rounds I’m expecting, Harvey.” He kissed him lightly, then rolled off the bed and stood up, letting Harvey enjoy the view as he stretched. “Get me noodles and I’ll even let you pick the movie.” He pointed at the stack of dvds by the tv.

“You think we’re eating in here?” Harvey scoffed.

Mike grinned over his shoulder as he walked towards the bathroom. “Eating anywhere else would require clothes.”

Harvey scrambled for his suit pants and his cell phone.

 

* * *

 

 

The drive back to the hospital the next day was yet another awkward affair. It had all seemed so easy the night before, like coming together physically was just the culmination of everything they had been through together. Lying in bed together, eating take out chinese straight out of their boxes and arguing good naturedly over the merits of a superhero in a metal suit had felt more natural to Harvey than anything he’d ever experienced. As he’d pressed Mike back into the pillows and licked the taste of soy sauce off his tongue, Harvey had had the distinct realisation that, much like all roads lead to Rome, all decisions he and Mike had ever made were always meant to lead them here, tied together with so many layers of want and need that it would be impossible to untangle even if they had the inclination. Lying chest to back with Mike, hand splayed over the scar that represented how close he had come to losing more than he’d even realised, nose buried in the sweat curled blond hair, Harvey had felt a subtle click inside his chest, a feeling of everything slotting into their rightful places, and Harvey had realised he felt more at home right at that moment than he ever had before. The only thing that even came close to that feeling was when he was standing in a courtroom, and even only then when Mike was standing next to him.

But now they were sitting in Harvey’s town car, Ray in the driver’s seat, negotiating traffic while humming along happily to the low sound of the radio. The car was Harvey’s connection between his apartment and the office, and in the cold light of day it felt as though he might just have done something incredibly stupid. Harvey supposed it was par for the course as far as Mike was concerned; ever since the kid had walked into that hotel room it seemed as though Harvey’s life had turned into one long series of ridiculous decisions.

The car had reminded Harvey that they didn’t in fact live in a bubble. They couldn’t just stay in his apartment where they had been for the last month together. Their lives consisted of so much more than sitting on the couch together watching some sci fi show, or bickering pedantically about which type of pizza topping was the best invention, or sitting up all night just to watch Mike sleep. Outside of his apartment, Harvey was Mike’s boss and mentor, he lived a high powered lifestyle that didn’t include getting to spend lazy mornings in bed, watching how the dawn sunlight highlight Mike’s freckles, turned his lips a shade darker, made the blue of his eyes brighter as he blinked them slowly open. There were inter-office dating policies (read: it was forbidden) and they already had one giant secret they were keeping from everyone. Adding one more would put a strain on an already high pressured existence.

And what was to say this was even where they were headed? Harvey wasn’t fool enough to deny to himself that this was what he wanted, even if he had forced himself to not think about it for as long as he could remember (he was finding it increasingly hard to remember much of anything about his life pre-Mike). But they had both been riding high on adrenalin the night before; Harvey with dread and Mike with anger. Was commitment something either of them wanted from each other? If Harvey was honest with himself, he would be able to admit that yes, this was what he wanted. He wanted Mike in his apartment, arguing over the television remote and who got to make the coffee in the morning, Mike’s feet in his lap as he rolled a pen lid across his lips, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked on whatever case they were on at the time. He wanted Mike in his bed, littering the carpet with his shed clothes, laying starfished amongst the sheets, his head buried half underneath a pillow. But he also wanted Mike at the office, trading movie quotes and pumping his fist enthusiastically when he caught a break, running his fingers over Harvey’s LP collection and the signed balls along his cabinets, sly grin turning up his mouth as he watched for Harvey’s reaction. He wanted Mike standing next to him in court, smirking at the opposition as Harvey outmaneuvered them spectacularly, hand smoothing down his obnoxiously skinny tie smugly as they won. Harvey had always been of the opinion that it was perfectly possible to have your cake and eat it too, but this time, he wasn’t sure he could. He wasn’t even sure the option was on the table. Maybe all Mike had wanted was just one night.

The car pulled up outside the hospital and Mike opened his door and slid out, not meeting Harvey’s gaze as he said, “you don’t have to come in and wait with me, you know.”

Harvey’s heart sank a little. “Of course, I’m coming in.” If he was only going to get the next few hours of time with Mike outside the office, then he wasn’t going to waste them.

He followed Mike through the waiting room doors, determined to make the most of his last few moments with him. Mike still wasn’t looking at him, hadn’t looked at him much at all since those first few minutes after they had woken up together. He kept his eyes on the ground as much as possible, and Harvey wondered if this was Mike subtly telling him that he thought they’d made a mistake the night before.

“Mr Ross?”

Harvey looked up at the same time as Mike, eyes catching on an orderly in green scrubs, frowning down at a clipboard in his hands. He seemed fairly familiar to Harvey, and he guessed he’d seen him around the hospital before in recent weeks. Mike stood up and walked over to join the man, gesturing with his hand for Harvey to wait for him there. The orderly’s gaze flicked up as Mike approached him, his eyes skipping over Harvey before landing on Mike with a thin smile. He gestured with an arm and Mike followed him down the hall, to where Dr Warren was presumably waiting for him.

Harvey sat back in the uncomfortable waiting chair, grimacing to himself as he felt the tacky cover catch on his slacks. The night before had gone so well. At least, after their fight. Harvey had ordered the Chinese and then joined Mike in the shower, pressing him up against the cool tiles and watching come undone beneath his hands and the hot water spraying down on them both. Harvey wasn’t as young as he once was, and being ready for another round so soon after the first was usually beyond him these days, but the way Mike’s cries echoed off the bathroom walls, hands scrabbling at his shoulders for purchase as Harvey wrapped his fingers around him and twisted his wrist, mouth opening wide and and slick and made Harvey kiss him until they were both breathless, everything about Mike had Harvey dealing with his fastest recuperation time in years. They’d stepped out of the shower and wrapped themselves in Harvey’s towels, and while Harvey went to the door to receive their food, Mike chose a film to watch.

“ _The Wild Bunch?_ Really?”

Mike had grinned, reaching out and snagging a carton of food from Harvey’s arms, settling on the bed with his legs crossed, towel still around his waist. “It’s a classic for a reason, Harvey.”

“I just didn’t think you’d be quite so predictable.”

Mike had pointed his chopsticks at him. “ _They'll be waitin' for us_.”

Harvey had rolled his eyes and joined him on the bed. “ _I wouldn't have it any other way_.”

“ _Pike, I wouldn't have it any other way, either._ ”

They’d watched the movie, Mike quoting the entire thing when his mouth wasn’t full of chinese food, Harvey joining in when he could get a word in edgewise. He’d watched the film often enough to know it almost as well as Mike, but he had been mostly content to watch the way Mike’s mouth moved as he tried to copy the accents, listen to him laugh at himself as he mangled them. As the credits rolled Harvey had gently removed the empty food carton from Mike’s hands, setting them down on the floor before turning back to him, pulling him close and kissing him thoroughly, intent on replacing the taste of soy and black bean sauce with his own. Mike had moaned into the kiss, pushing against Harvey’s shoulders until he laid back against the pillows, pulling their towels free before sliding against him, skin touching everywhere from toes to lips. They’d moved against each other, languidly at first, both of them content with just sharing the same space, kissing each other until they felt light headed. As their speed had gradually picked up, Harvey’s hands slid down Mike’s back to grip his hips, pulling him impossibly closer. Mike crawled up, over him, reaching to the bedside table for the lube. He slicked Harvey up with a loose fist curled around him, lips never leaving Harvey’s as he worked. As Mike moved to straddle him, getting into position and sinking down slowly, Harvey had the singular thought that he wanted this forever. He’d whispered it into the hollow of Mike’s throat as they moved together slowly, taking their time as though this was all they had to do for the rest of their lives. The city lights spilling in through the window had made Mike’s body glisten, highlighting the compact muscles as he moved above him, and Harvey didn’t think anything had ever looked so beautiful. When he opened his mouth and told him so, Mike had shivered, pressed down closer to him, finding his lips once more as he came between them. “Harvey,” Mike had whispered, his name like a benediction and Harvey followed him over the edge.

They’d stayed together like that for a long moment, breathing into each other’s mouths as they came down. Eventually Harvey had gone to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a damp washcloth. After cleaning themselves up, Mike had pulled Harvey back down into the bed with him, arranging him on his back so that Mike could lie down half on top of him, head tucked beneath his chin. They hadn’t said anything, just lay there together, Mike drawing indecipherable designs on Harvey’s chest with a finger and Harvey stroking through Mike’s hair until they both allowed sleep to claim them.

They’d slept in late, neither stirring as the world below them continued its transition from night into day. Harvey eventually woke first, too used to being up and out to work early to enjoy the lie in for long. He’d watched the way the sun crept over Mike’s exposed chest where he’d flung himself at some point during the night, legs and hips wrapped in the sheets, fingers of one hand tangled with Harvey’s own in the scant space between them. He didn’t know how long he’d laid there, watching, fingers occasionally reaching out to skim lightly across Mike’s collarbone, the inside of his arm, the scar on his chest. But eventually Mike had started stirring, eyes blinking open, lips pulling up into a shy smile as his gaze met Harvey’s.

“Hospital appointment today,” Harvey had murmured, eyes finding their way unerringly to the scar on Mike’s chest.

“Yes. Hopefully the last.”

By the time Harvey’s gaze had made its way back up to Mike’s face, he was already looking away, eyes on the floor as he reached for one of their discarded towels and wrapped it around his waist.

“I’m gonna go take a shower, we probably need to leave soon.” He got up and walked out of Harvey’s bedroom and down the hall to the guest bathroom, leaving Harvey in bed, wondering what had changed.

“Harvey?”

He looked up and saw Mike standing over him, the same orderly standing a few feet behind him, squinting down at his clipboard.

“How did it go?” Harvey asked, watching with interest as the tips of Mike’s ears turned pink.

“Yeah, fine. I’m signed off work for another two weeks, but I’m no longer under the doc’s care, which is good?”

Harvey nodded. “So you can go home now?”

Mike blew out a breath, still not looking at him. “Yeah. In fact, I think I’m gonna take a cab and go back there now, get a few things sorted out.”

“Okay,” Harvey stood up, putting his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to touch Mike. It had all seemed so simple the night before. “Do you want me to pack your things for you?”

“No.” Mike looked up at him then, and Harvey was almost too afraid to meet his eyes, afraid of what he might see in them. “I’ll come and pick them up tonight, if that’s okay?”

Mike’s eyes were clear and determined, and Harvey wondered what he had decided. He tried for a smile, wasn’t sure if he’d managed it. “Sure.”

Mike smiled then, wide and brilliant and the sight of it almost took Harvey’s breath away. “I’ll see you later tonight then. About 7?”

“Sounds good.”

Mike moved away, apologising as he bumped into the orderly standing behind him before disappearing through the doors. Harvey stood a moment longer, still not sure if he should be worried or excited.

 

* * *

 

 

Harvey decided to cook steaks out on the balcony. He figured that even if Mike did just want to turn up, grab his stuff and go back to his own small apartment and avoid Harvey outside of work, he wouldn’t turn down the chance of a freshly cooked simple meal. Harvey also reasoned that if necessary he could brush it off as a celebration of Mike’s return to full independence. He’d directed Ray to one of the pricier delicatessens near his apartment and bought all the necessary ingredients, before asking to be taken back to his apartment. It was his last day of relative freedom; now Mike was officially back on his feet, Harvey would be expected to be back at work at full pace and putting in extra overtime to make up for what he’d let slip over the past couple of months. Jessica had already given him more leniency that was strictly necessary, and harvey had tried not to look too deeply into why that might have been. He contented himself with believing it was because he was the great Harvey Specter, and having him working at half capacity was still better than not having him at all.

He used the time to his advantage, marinating the steaks (he said simple, not plain) in an organic spicy barbeque sauce in the kitchen while he moved around the rest of the apartment, stripping both beds and replacing the used sheets with fresh clean ones as he hummed along to the strains of soft jazz coming from the living area. He smiled to himself as he remembered Mike asking him when the maid was going to arrive, and the look on his face when Harvey told him he did all the cleaning himself.

“But. But, you’re Harvey Specter! You get someone else to do all the hard work and you claim the credit afterwards.”

“That only applies to you, Rookie.”

Mike had grumbled. “Nice to know I’m so special.”

The sun was still warm by the time Harvey stepped out onto the balcony and lit up the grill. He felt comfortable in his jeans and long sleeved Henley, his feet bare against the bleached wood. Even though he’d been back in a suit the day before, he still felt as though he had become more accustomed to wearing casual clothes; the neck of his collar had felt restrictive against his neck in a way he’d never experienced before. He could now appreciate why Mike would roll up his sleeves and pop open the top button of his shirt, tie hanging more loosely around his neck the longer he worked into the night. Sitting around that meeting table with the other partners he’d felt an itch in his fingers, wanting to reach up and pull on his tie, run his forefinger between the collar of his shirt and his throat. Waking up in the morning and knowing he didn’t have to put on a suit had given him a sense of relief rather than the usual disappointment. He frowned to himself as he mixed a salad together, pulling potato wedges out of the oven and seasoning them liberally before leaving them to cool down for dinner. He moved around the apartment, picking up the things that Mike had dropped during his stay; a sweater over the back of the couch, sneakers left by the front door, pile of well used paperbacks on the coffee table. He wondered if he should have left them where they were, wondered if Mike would rather he gathered everything up himself, but he didn’t want it to be awkward, standing around watching Mike pack his things while Harvey looked on, wishing he could change his mind about leaving. He left the bag by the front door and took the steaks outside to the grill, setting up the outside table for them to hopefully sit and eat.

A knock on the front door sounded as Harvey was giving the steaks their first turn, and he padded back through the apartment, opening the door to Mike with a small smile.

“Perfect timing Rookie, food will be ready in a few minutes.”

“You’re cooking me dinner?” Mike’s eyes drifted to his bag on the floor, and Harvey tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he responded.

“You’re back on your feet. I think we should celebrate that, don’t you?” He walked away, back out onto the balcony, forcing Mike to follow him if he wanted to respond.

He felt the presence of Mike behind him as he returned to the grill and he tried to concentrate on not burning the meat instead of the need growing behind his breastbone to pull Mike in close.

“You’re... actually cooking.”

Harvey rolled his eyes. “No need to sound so surprised, Rookie, I have been cooking for you for the past month.”

“Well yeah but, that was mainly soups and ready made stews and stuff, all you had to do was heat it up most of the time. But this,” Mike gestures at the table behind them, “I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

“Well, now you do.” Harvey flipped the steaks again. “Are you okay with your meat being rare?”

“Actually, I prefer medium.”

“Of course you would, heathen.”

Mike grinned. “Call me whatever you want, I just don’t like seeing a lot of blood.”

Harvey’s gaze dipped down to Mike’s chest and then down to his own hands, and he swallowed. “Maybe you’re right,” he said softly.

They were both quiet for a moment, listening to the meat sizzle on the grill, letting the light breeze ruffle their hair. Then, Mike shrugged. “Well, now that I’m no longer on any medication, you got a beer?”

Harvey nodded. “In the fridge, help yourself.”

Mike saluted him and headed back inside, and Harvey listened to him rummaging around in the kitchen as he plated the steaks and turned off the grill. It sounded normal, as though they were always meant to be sharing space like this.

A knock at the door sounded and Mike called from the kitchen, “are you expecting anybody?”

“It’s probably Donna,” Harvey called back, remembering suddenly. “She said she was going to bring some files to me after work.”

He watched Mike’s silhouette disappear round the corner towards the front door and he turned to the table, setting down the plate of food. He was just about to sit down when he heard Mike returning, another set of footsteps with him. He frowned; those weren’t Donna’s trademark high heels. He turned on the spot, and froze.

Mike stood there, in the doorway to the balcony. A man stood behind him, arm wrapped around Mike’s shoulders, gloved hand clamped down tight on Mike’s upper arm. In his other hand he held a gun, the muzzle pressed under Mike’s chin, forcing his head back.

“Hello, Mr Specter.”

 

* * *

 

 

Harvey stared. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, his feet, his facial expression. He couldn’t think of anything beyond _this man has a gun to Mike’s head_. He watched Mike swallow, wincing as his movement shifted his throat against the gun. His eyes were locked on Harvey, his pupils blown wide with adrenaline. His hands were held loosely down by his sides, pinned there by the man’s pressure across his chest. His face was blank, and Harvey didn’t know if it was from fear or if he was too busy calculating, his fast brain trying to piece everything together.

“Well Mr Specter? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Harvey reluctantly pulled his gaze away from Mike’s to look up at the man. He shifted so the side a little, hooking his chin over Mike’s left shoulder, and as the light hit his eyes, Harvey recognised him. He was tall, taller than both Mike and Harvey. He looked to be roughly in his mid-thirties, shaven head accentuating his receding hairline. The orderly from the hospital earlier today. Not that that told him anything about why he was here, or why he was holding Mike at gunpoint.

“Who are you?”

The man grinned at him and tilted his head to touch against Mike’s. It made Harvey’s skin crawl. “I bet he knows who I am. Right, _Mike?_ ”

Mike ran his tongue over his teeth as he cleared his throat lightly, hands twitching by his sides. “Yes.”

The man laughed, an ugly, high pitched sound. “I knew you would. How does an old man like you keep up with him, Harvey?” He didn’t look like he wanted an answer, so Harvey didn’t give him one. “Why don’t you introduce us, Mike? Catch Harvey up on what took you less than a minute to work out.”

Mike swallowed again, his eyes still on Harvey as he licked his lips before speaking. “Harvey, this is Dr Paul Vickery. His cancer treatment study was the subject of one of our lawsuits 8 months ago. Our clients were not impressed that he was using their facilities and equipment to conduct research on an unsanctioned project.”

Vickery smiled at Harvey. “Did that help you remember me?”

Harvey shrugged, trying to remain calm on the outside. “I would say I remember winning, but that could refer to any of my cases.”

Vickery’s eyes narrowed, and he pushed the gun harder under Mike’s chin. Outwardly, both Mike and Harvey remained unconcerned, but Harvey could feel his heart beating against his chest painfully hard.

“Tell him the rest, Mike.”

“The study was for a rare form of cancer, Leptomeningeal Carcinomatosis. It’s when cancerous cells spread into the fluid surrounding the brain. So far it’s proven to be inoperable, and chemotherapy drugs can only slow its progress by up to 10 percent.” Mike swallowed and closed his eyes in a slow blink. “Paul’s wife, Linda Vickery, was diagnosed with it 10 months ago.”

“My condolences,” Harvey said, trying to force some meaning behind the words when all he could see was the gun pointed under Mike’s chin.

“Shut the fuck up,” Vickery sneered, jerking his head violently, Mike swaying with his movement. “Like you give a single fuck about people like me! People who can’t afford to pay to keep you in this fancy apartment and tailored suits!” He used the hand clenched around the gun to gesticulate, and Harvey’s chest loosened for a moment before tightening all over again as the muzzle waved around in the air before pressing back in its original spot.

“Listen, Paul -” Mike tried to speak calmly, but Vickery cut him off.

“I said shut up! I didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I did my job, I did what I was supposed to do, every day, coming in even when she was so sick she couldn’t even lift her head off her pillow, I went to work and I did my job!” His weight kept shifting from foot to foot, as though he wanted to pace but was just as much pinned in place by holding onto Mike as Mike was by him. “I researched their stupid diet pills, and I did the studies they wanted me to do, and they fire me just for using their lab overnight to work on something that was actually important? That could save lives? That wasn’t right!”

Harvey nodded, details of the case filtering in. “And so you tried to sue them.”

“Damn right I did! Do you have any idea how much chemotherapy pills cost? Once they fired me, we lost our medical plan! I had to sell our house just to be able to afford enough drugs to keep my wife alive another month!” Mike was still being moved by Vickery as he twisted and turned in his agitation, and Harvey could see the way his fingers were digging into Mike’s arm through his short sleeved t shirt. “So you’re damn right I tried to sue them! Rossum owed me. They owed my wife!”

“Paul,” Mike said gently, his voice calm, his eyes on Harvey. “Rossum Co. is our client, Harvey was just doing his job -”

“Bullshit!” Vickery hissed into Mike’s ear, and he flinched. Harvey felt completely useless. “I would have won my suit, but oh no, Mr Hotshot Lawyer over here had to swoop in, get my own lawyer all nervous so he throws the case.” He sneered at Harvey again. “Can’t have the big fish handing over any of their precious money to the people who deserve it, can we?”

“No, Paul, you wouldn’t have won, it wouldn’t have mattered who -”

Vickery shoved the muzzle of the gun harder into the soft skin of Mike’s throat, and he stuttered to a halt. “You’re just like him, aren’t you?” Vickery took his eyes off Harvey finally to look at the side of Mike’s face. “I remember you in that meeting room too. I thought you might be different; you didn’t look nearly as smug as Brylcream Ad over there.” He let out a quiet disbelieving laugh. “I actually felt bad when I shot you, at first.”

He snorted, and Harvey took a step closer. Mike moved his head a fraction, telling him with his eyes to stay put. Harvey gritted his teeth; Mike had been hurt for him once already, he wasn’t about to let it happen again.

“But now, it actually helps,” Vickery whispered into Mike’s ear, and Harvey watched Mike shudder. Vickery looked back up at Harvey suddenly, freezing him in place once more. “I lost my job, I lost my house, and then I lost my wife. All because of you, Mr Specter.

“The only job I could get was as an orderly at the hospital. After the courthouse, I asked to be switched to ICU.” He tapped his gloved finger against the trigger guard of the gun almost thoughtfully. “Do you know how many times I was in that room while you were watching him sleep? It was almost better than I planned, seeing you look like that, every day. Made my own pain a little less.” Vickery’s eyes glazed over for a moment, before focusing back down on the side of Mike’s face. “I couldn’t go in once he woke up though. I heard you and that redhead talking in the hallway about his freaky brain, couldn’t risk him seeing my face and remembering me. But that’s when I realised I’d been aiming at the wrong target all along.” He stroked his finger along the side of the gun, pushed it up harder against Mike’s skin. “Instead of killing you, I’m going to make you suffer.”

Harvey’s mouth went dry, and he felt his heart stutter in his chest. But there was no way this man could know how he felt, it was all too complicated, too new.

“You’re going to burn my record collection? Cut up my suits?”

He had hoped to put Vickery off his game, but Harvey must be playing the game with too much adrenalin in his system, because instead, the man just smiled. “Hey Mike, remember what you and Dr Warren talked about earlier?”

Mike’s eyes widened. “Yes?”

“So do I. I was standing outside the door. Why don’t you tell Harvey about it, give that big brain of yours one last workout?”

“She said I looked better -”

“Verbatim, Mike. I have a doctorate, I know what eidetic means.”

Mike closed his eyes. “She said,

‘wow, you look good’.

“I said, ‘thanks, I feel it, ready to get back to work’.

“She nudged me with her elbow.

‘Yes, but I meant more about how you’re...’”

Mike stuttered over the phrase, eyes still closed,

“‘walking with a certain, spring in your step, if you know what I mean?’ Then she laughed, ‘your blushing is so cute, and a really obvious tell, by the way. I’m happy for you, I was wondering when you too would finally jump that fence.’”

“Keep going,” Vickery whispered, and despite the circumstances Harvey found himself leaning into the story, wanting to know what Mike had been feeling that morning, what he might have said.

“I looked at her, and she laughed again, said,

‘Honey, the sexual tension in your room was so thick I needed a gas mask, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.’

“I said...” Mike stumbled again, his hands twitching in agitation by his side. “I said, ‘I don’t think it meant what you think it meant, Doc.’

‘Well, what do you think it meant?’

“I said, ‘Pity. I think he felt bad that I got hurt, and he was trying to make it up to me somehow.’

“She said, ‘Mike, I have met a lot of couples in my time here, and let me tell you, that boy out there wasn’t sitting in that room every day begging you to wake up out of some misplaced sense of guilt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy that buttoned up who still manages to love so openly.’”

Mike opened his eyes finally, and focused on Harvey. Trepidation and something that Harvey thought might be hope made the blue glisten.

“Keep going,” Vickery said, a little louder this time, and Harvey could see he was enjoying this.

Mike sighed. “I laughed. ‘Are you sure we’re talking about the same person here? Harvey Specter doesn’t do emotions.’

“She looked at me, and said, ‘Well, maybe he’s saved them all up for you, because I’m telling you now, a man doesn’t stare into a room like that unless it’s holding his entire world.’”

Harvey looked down at the floor, embarrassed suddenly that he’d been so easily read. Vickery laughed, his eyes lighting up maniacally.

“And there we have it, gents.” He stared hard at Harvey. “You helped those bastards take my whole world away from me,” he paused, licked his lips. “So now you get to watch while I take away yours.”

“Paul, before you do anything, can you just tell me what you did to Eric?” Mike asked gently, his tone calm and reasonable, like he wasn’t held in a death grip with a gun pressed to his neck.

_Who the fuck is Eric?_

“Who?” Vickery snarled, lip curling in confusion.

“The doorman,” Mike replied, and _of course_ he would know the man’s name. “You had to have done something to get past him. Is he okay?” Mike’s elbows tucked into his waist, locking his upper arms as he started slowly lifting his hands. “He has a wife too, Paul. They have two little boys, Thomas and Jake. Please tell me you didn’t hurt him.”

Vickery rolled his eyes. “He’s fine. He might have a bit of a concussion when he wakes up.”

Mike sighed audibly. “Okay good, that’s good. Can I just, can I say something to Harvey? Before you do anything?” His hands were up to his chest now, hovering a few inches away from the arm clamped tight across his shoulders.

“Final last words? That’s a bit cliche, isn’t it? This isn’t a James Bond movie, Mikey boy,” Vickery sneered again, his eyes never wavering from Harvey, pinning him in place.

“Let him speak,” Harvey snapped, frustrated over feeling so helpless. He couldn’t get to Mike before the gun went off, and Vickery knew it.

“Fine.”

“Hey, Harvey,” Mike said softly, bringing Harvey’s attention back to him. “Remember when I bought in my first client? Tom Keller? We had that argument in your office about what I’d done for Louis. Remember?”

_What are your choices when someone holds a gun to your head?_

_What are you talking about, you do what they say or they shoot you!_

_Wrong. You take the gun, or you pull out a bigger one, or you call their bluff, or you do any one of a hundred and forty six other things!_

Harvey’s eyes widened. “We were talking metaphorically.”

Mike smiled, eyes lighting up. “I know. But I still think I’m gonna go with option one.”

Mike threw his head back and to the side, catching Vickery with a glancing blow to his temple. At the same time, the fingers of his right hand clamped down on Vickery’s gun hand, twisting it out and away. His other hand reached back, grabbing a fistful of Vickery’s upper arm, and he bent his knees and doubled over, throwing the larger man clean over his shoulder.

Harvey raced forward, dropping a knee down onto Vickery’s gun arm and kicking the pistol across the pale wood, before shoving the man onto his front, holding him down. He glanced up at Mike, a shocked comment on his tongue, but he bit it back when he saw him. Mike was on his hands and knees, head down, raspy breaths rattling out of his mouth as he struggled to remain upright.

“Mike? Mike! Are you okay?”

All the fight seemed to have left Vickery as soon as his back had hit the floor, and Harvey kept him pinned easily. Mike nodded, and then lowered himself onto his side, a few feet from Harvey.

“I think,” he whispered, breath coming in shaky gasps, “I might have pulled a muscle or two.” He tried to laugh, the sound coming out breathy and high. “Also, I haven’t wrestled since high school. That’s the last time I do an over the shoulder arm drag without stretching first.” His voice got a bit stronger, but he didn’t try to get up. Instead, he slipped his hand into his jeans pocket and held it up.

“Call for an ambulance too.”

Mike rolled his eyes, only just visible from Harvey’s position on top of Vickery, who was moaning pathetically. “I’m fine, Harvey, just a little winded.” He held the phone up to his ear.

“I meant for Eric the doorman.” Not that Harvey was going to let the paramedics leave without checking Mike out first.

“Oh.”

Harvey listened to Mike talk to the dispatcher, coughing slightly as his breathing slowly went back to normal. The sound of sirens filled the air below them, and Mike pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“Well,” Mike said, cocking a grin at Harvey. “I’d like to see how you’re gonna top this for our second date.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow. “You think I can’t?”

Mike’s grin turned softer, into the shy smile he’d woken up wearing earlier that same day. “I think I’m going to have fun watching you try.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Four Months Later..._

“You do know this is ridiculous?”

“Harvey, it’s not ridiculous, it’s smart.”

Harvey snorted and rolled his eyes, searching through his jewellery box for just the right cufflinks. “Taking separate cars to the office Christmas party is smart?”

Mike hip-checked him out of the way and pulled out a pair of polished silver square cuts, handing them to Harvey. Perfect. “I just want to be careful. Come on, Harvey.”

“Mike, practically everyone at the office knows about us by now.”

“No, Jessica and Donna know.” Mike tilted his head to the side, considering. “And Louis and Harold, from that time you tried to jump me in the copy room.”

“Excuse me, I think you’ll find that it was you who accosted me.” Harvey raised his eyebrows.

Mike shrugged. “Semantics. Anyway,” he continued, drowning out Harvey’s disbelieving noise, “other than those four -”

“Rachel.”

“- and Rachel, hardly anyone knows. Most importantly, the other associates don’t know. I don’t want to spend half my time at work fielding snarky comments, that’s all.”

Harvey sighed. “They already know, Mike.”

“I think I would have heard something by now if that were the case.”

“You wouldn’t.” Harvey pulled on his jacket and walked up behind Mike, staring over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror. “It’s old news now. It wasn’t even worthy of water cooler gossip by the time you came back to work.” He slid his hand around Mike’s waist, letting his palm rest over the now pale pink scar that resided beneath Mike’s shirt.

After his wrestling stunt with Vickery, Mike had had to be signed off any strenuous activity for another month. He’d pulled his already damaged muscles and re-cracked one of his ribs that had been broken by the bullet. Harvey had argued with Jessica about taking the time off to help look after him, and by the time he’d walked out on her, practically the entire office had been lined up against the walls, listening in. Donna had informed him an hour later that everyone was certain that he and Mike were together, and asked if he wanted her to squash it. Harvey had been supremely not bothered what anyone thought, and when he told Donna so, she’d looked at him with a mixture of pride and condescension. She had started up a different rumour, something about Louis and hair dryers, circulating it just in time for Mike’s return to work.

“Really?” Mike said, biting down on his bottom lip as he leaned backwards into Harvey’s touch.

“Really.” Harvey kissed Mike’s neck, licked a line up to his ear just to feel him shudder against him. Then he winked. “Now hurry up, Ray will be here in a minute.”

“I hate office parties anyway,” Mike grumbled, pulling on his jacket and shoes as Harvey checked his pockets for his cell phone and keys.

The door buzzed to signal Ray’s arrival, and they moved to the elevator. “Tell you what,” Harvey said as they stepped inside and Mike reached out and hit the button for the lobby, “when we get back, we’ll have our own celebration.”

Mike perked up at that, hands sliding beneath Harvey’s jacket to thumb at the slip of shirt between his waistcoat and pants. “Will there be food at this celebration?”

Harvey hummed in assent, catching Mike’s lips with his own. “I’m thinking Chinese.”

 

* * *

 

 

The most important thing to understand about Harvey and Mike is what they found in each other, that day at the hotel (with the police, and the drugs, and the card game, etc). For Harvey, he found someone who wasn’t boring, who challenged the way he looked at life, forced him to give explanations and reasons for his choices. For Mike, he found someone he could look up to, someone who pushed him to the boundaries of his incredibly intelligent brain and forced him to find a way to make it better.

Until that day, Harvey had known he would never find someone he wouldn’t get bored of in the end (Jessica and Donna notwithstanding, of course). Eventually he would tire of their predictability; his unerring ability to know how people think tended to make them seem dull to Harvey, after a while. So he satisfied himself with one night stands with beautiful people, content in the knowledge that his brightly polished image would forever be his true companion throughout life. It was just the way the world worked for Harvey; there could never be another him, and only another him could keep Harvey from becoming bored. And then that day happened, and Harvey found himself doing things he never imagined himself doing, all to make sure that Mike stuck around. He bent the law, he argued with Jessica, he started to have _feelings_ and even worse, _showing them_. This kid had literally stumbled into his life and turned it upside down and inside out, and Harvey hadn’t even realised that he had spent all his time beforehand looking at the world and what he needed from it all wrong. He didn’t need another Harvey, he needed a mirror. He needed someone to come in and question every action he took, to raise a sardonic eyebrow at his more risque decisions, to offer alternatives on the occasions he was too blinded by his own image to see the whole reflection. He needed someone to come in and challenge him, make him _better_.

With the exception of his Grams, people tended to fall into one of two categories for Mike. They either found his perfect recall a thing to be admired, tested and prodded, or they saw it as a tool for their own advantage. Kids at school wanted his help with their homework, or they wanted to ask him question after question in the middle of class, watching with morbid fascination as his answers flustered the teachers. College students wanted him to take their tests for them, friends wanted to use him to impress new people, and Mike learned to look at his gift as either a commodity, or a thing to be embarrassed about. And then that day happened, and Mike quickly realised that Harvey fell into a category all of his own. Harvey could see what Mike’s mind could do for him, and he wanted to pay handsomely for the use of it. But he also wanted Mike to use it for _himself_ , to reach for his true potential with both hands outstretched. Until that day, Mike had always assumed that he would never meet anybody who would truly understand what it was like to be him. But then Harvey had sauntered over to him and shook his hand, and Mike realised he’d been looking at it all wrong. He didn’t need someone to _understand_. He needed someone to _know_. And Harvey does. Harvey understands what it’s like to fly higher than the rest of the world around you, and to feel so incredibly alone because of it. Mike needed someone to tell him that he wasn’t as alone as he’d always assumed, to tell him that it was okay to be so different, because he’d always have someone who made him feel _ordinary_.

But the most important thing that Harvey and Mike understood about each other, was that with Mike by his side, Harvey didn’t need his image to shine brightly, and with Harvey, Mike didn’t need to hide who he was. No matter what they showed the world, between the two of them there were no walls, and no suits of armour. They didn’t need them.

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilery Triggers**
> 
> 1) Mike gets shot, so there is some graphic description of what a body goes through when this happens. He also slips into a coma for a while.  
> 2) There is one scene where Harvey is dressing for a funeral, but all is not as it seems.
> 
>  **Medical stuff:** While I personally am not a doctor, my husband is a cardio thoracic surgeon, so all of the medical aspects of this story are as factual as I could understand after forcing him to explain this stuff to me. I'm also British, so there may be some discrepancies between UK and US hospital policies. Any mistakes are my own.  
>  For reference: GCS stands for Glasgow Coma Scale, which is an objective way of recording the conscious state of a person. Mike never drops below a 6. Anything lower than a 5 has a less than 2% chance of recovery.
> 
>  **Law stuff:** I had to look it all up, because I know absolutely nothing about it.
> 
> (also, everything about the suits, I made up, because I also know absolutely nothing about clothes shh)


End file.
